The Peacemaker
by Arwen Tinuviel
Summary: Update: Chapter 16! Lupin comes into the story. Crossover of LOTR, Harry Potter, “The Ring”. Esther and Justin are transported through different fantasy worlds as Samara pursues them.
1. Chapter One

Through Time and Space

Summery: Crossover of LOTR, Harry Potter, "The Ring". Esther and Justin are transported through different fantasy worlds as Samara pursues them. First stop: Mirkwood, then on to Rivendell as the Fellowship sets off. Samara is still out there somewhere...

AN: This begins just with "The Ring" and LOTR. Harry will turn up later. :) If anyone has trouble with the Elvish bits, just let me know. This being my first crack at this, please review! Emails are welcome.

            It was about 12:30 at night. Justin and I had just gotten back from the movies . . . again. We always went to the movies together: action, comedy, adventure, fantasy, romance – anything worked. We just loved the movies. I myself was a little skittish when it came to horror; Justin, on the other hand, loved it. He never got scared because he knew that it was all "just a movie." That phrase never comforted me; my imagination was just too big. I think it was because I always felt that, in some obscure, intangible way, it could all be real. One night he convinced me to see _The Ring_ – _big mistake. I couldn't sleep properly for a month afterwards. Of course, Justin's incessant teasing may have prolonged my after-shock somewhat. But that was all behind us now. Or so I thought . . ._

            Justin opened the door to my building for me.

            "Thanks," I said, "Are you coming in tonight?"

            "Nah," he said, following me inside, "I'll walk you to your door, but I can't stay. I have an early morning tomorrow." We chattered absently as we walked to my door. I fitted the key in the lock and turned it. I opened the door, poked my head inside, then immediately ducked back out and slammed it shut again.

            "What?" asked Justin, "What is it?" I was backed up against the wall next to my door, my hand covering my mouth, trembling all over. That was when I noticed the water: it was covering the floor in a thin layer, leaking out from under the crack below my door.

            "Please tell me I'm hallucinating," I whispered, lowering my hand. Justin sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, finally guessing the cause of my sudden terror.

            "I can't believe this," he muttered, "How many times do I have to tell you: it's _just a movie_."

            "Then look inside and tell me it's not real," I said, "Then I'll go in."

            "Fine," he said, opening the door again. I watched his face change; his eyes widened, the color drained from his cheeks. I knew what it was he was seeing, because I'd seen her too in that split second when I'd opened the door: a little girl, no older than twelve or thirteen in appearance, but ancient in spirit. She wore a white dress, maybe a nightgown, that was stained with mildew and something else, rotten. She sat in the middle of the floor on a plain wooden chair, and the puddle of water spread out from underneath her. Her long, dark hair hung in front of her face like a thick, black veil, hiding her features.

            Justin slowly backed away from the door. He caught my eye silently, his own eyes reflecting something between disbelief and pure terror.

            "Justin?" I squeaked.

            "Let's go!" he said, grabbing my arm and dragging me along the hallway the way we had come in. I followed him blindly; I couldn't feel the ground under me and the air seemed to rumble. Then we were outside. Both Justin and I ran of our own accord now, afraid to look back. I could feel her behind us, taking her time to catch us, relishing our fear. I saw Justin heading for the woods behind my building. We'd get lost for sure if we went in there.

            "Justin, wait!" I called, struggling to keep up with him.

            "Is she still following us?" he asked, turning his head slightly.

            "I don't know! I'm not turning around to check."

            "Me neither, c'mon!" He slowed down enough to grab my hand and pulled me into the woods with him. I felt the little girl's presence diminish, although she didn't entirely disappear. She was watching us, but something was holding her back, keeping her at bay for the time being.

            "Esther?" Justin turned towards me, his eyes wide with fearful uncertainty. I didn't understand; I followed his gaze past me, deep into the darkness of the trees. We weren't in the same forest anymore: the wood was strange, dark and different, but somehow vaguely familiar.

            "I know this place," I heard myself say. Justin looked at me questioningly.

            "Where are we?" he asked.

            "Mirkwood."

            I was surprised that I actually knew the answer. Then came the sound of horse hooves clamouring towards us in the darkness. I peered through the dense foliage and saw the horses, tall and fair, bearing a small band of Wood Elves. At the front of the company was light-haired Elf with bright, sea-hued eyes, clad in green and brown. _It can't be, I thought, __I don't believe it!_

            "Esther," said Justin, "Is that who I think it is?"

            The Elf spotted us. He slowed his company with a simple gesture of his hand, dismounted, and walked towards us, studying me carefully with his pale, kind eyes. I walked closer to him, feeling strangely safe in his presence.

            "Mae govannen, Legolas Thranduilion," I greeted him. He smiled, and gave a short bow.

            "I see I am known to you," he said in a soft, unhurried voice, clear and regal, "Who are you?"

            "My name is Esther, and this is my friend Justin. We've lost our way."

            Legolas nodded solemnly.

            "The paths of these woods have grown dark of late," he said, "Especially for those who do not know them. Tell me, what is your destination?"

            I glanced uncertainly at Justin; he looked even more lost than I felt. So I decided to just tell him the truth.

            "We have none," I said finally, "It wasn't our choice to come here. We aren't so much making our way towards a destination as running from . . . something else."

            His shining eyes darkened.

            "Some great evil pursues you," he said, reading my thoughts, "An unknown enemy stalks your path."

            "She followed us?" Justin asked fearfully, reaching out for me.

            "Yes," said Legolas, turning his gaze to the thickly growing treetops, "She is very close, watching us, listening to every word we say."

            One of his companions edged closer, fearful uncertainty clouding his fair Elven face.

            "What is the new evil you speak of?" he asked.

            Legolas didn't answer, but looked back at me expectantly.

            "Samara," I said; a cold shudder rippled through the air at the sound of her name. I drew back, grabbing Justin by the shoulder, watching the dark wood carefully; I half-expected her to appear from the shadows and come for us. The Elves held their ground steadily. Mirkwood, I remembered, was riddled with strange and evil creatures and enchantments; they probably feared little, having dwelt there all their long lives.

            Legolas turned back to me.

            "She will follow you," he said, "Through time and space, until one of you is utterly destroyed. If you come with me, you will be endangering all those in my company. But if you remain here alone, unguarded . . ."

            I felt my heart grow cold with fear again; he wouldn't leave us there to die, would he? He moved closer to me, his soft blue eyes searching mine quietly, and I felt him reading my thoughts. It was strange: I felt my soul laid bare before him, but I wasn't afraid. His gaze was penetrating, but not intrusive. It was as if he was gently asking what my motivations were, and I simply let him see into my mind. Then he moved away from me and said something in Sindarin to one of his companions, a slender Elf with dark, chestnut hair. The dark-haired Elf came forward on his horse.

            "We are on the path towards Rivendell," said Legolas, "You may ride with us, but I cannot guarantee your safety until we reach Lord Elrond. He will be better able to protect you than I. Come," he held out his hand to me. I reached out and took it tentatively; he lifted me onto the back of his horse and then climbed up in front of me. I glanced over and saw that the dark-haired Elf was helping Justin onto the back of his own horse. Legolas leaned forward, said something to his horse, and then we were off. I silently wished, not for the first time, that I was more familiar with the Sindarin language.

            I had to hold tight to Legolas' waist to stay on the horse. Although, looking back on it, I'm sure that both he and the horse would have made sure I didn't fall. After adjusting to the sheer strangeness of the situation Justin and I had stumbled into, I began looking around at the woods.

            _We're really here, I realized, _We're___ in Middle Earth. Who would've guessed? And we're going to see Rivendell of all places! I wonder how long it will take to get there . . ._

            I glanced behind us at Justin; he was taking in our surroundings too. We had both read Tolkien's entire _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy, so we knew very well where we were. I wondered what the date was. Were we still in the Third Age? Had the War of the Ring begun already? And if so, just how far along were we? The only thing I knew for sure was that we were riding swiftly along the Elf Path of Mirkwood Forest, heading west towards Rivendell. I tried to remember the map in my head; I knew that Mirkwood was east of the River Anduin and the Misty Mountains, but I couldn't remember how far. For that matter, I had no idea just how deep inside Mirkwood we were.

            I wondered vaguely what time of the day it was. It had already been pitch dark when the Elves had found us. At first I had thought it strange that they would be traveling so late into the night, but then I remembered that Elves didn't need to sleep: they could rest with their eyes open and continue their journey without stopping, if need be. And then I wondered if they would stop for Justin and me. We were only human ourselves; they would realize that, wouldn't they? That was the last thought that went through my head before consciousness left me.


	2. Chapter Two

Okay, here's Part 2! There's more Legolas, as requested, and yes it _is_ going to last longer than seven days. Thanks for all the positive response; let me know what you think of this next bit!

-- Arwen Tinuviel

            The first thing I became aware of was a dull ache near the small of my back; I had been lying on the ground for heaven knows how long in the rugged outdoors with no more than a cloak for a mattress. Next I heard voices. Bell-clear, ethereal, but also laced with the bite of some heated discussion. I couldn't understand the language, and for a long time I didn't know where I was. Suddenly I caught the word "Imladris" and a spark of remembrance woke up my tired mind. _Where have I heard that? I wondered, __It sounds so familiar . . . It was, of course, the Elvish name for Rivendell. As soon as I remembered that, I remembered the night before and our meeting with Legolas and his band of Wood Elves. I sat up sharply, wincing as my head throbbed and feeling returned to the rest of my aching body. I heard rustling beside me as Justin made his over to me._

            "Morning," he mumbled with a lazy grin. It was still dark.

            "What time is it?" I asked.

            "I don't know. Must be early morning though. I didn't ask." He nodded in the direction of the Elves, who were still in the midst of debate. Legolas and another fair-haired Elf, apparently his second-in-command, or whatever the title was for Elves, were speaking in hushed, rapid Sindarin and gesturing continually back to Justin and me.

            "I think we're in trouble," Justin said, a note of amusement in his voice.

            "Oh, perfect," I muttered, "We've pissed off the Prince of Mirkwood. What do we do now?"

            "Just wait – we don't know what they've decided yet."

            "Well, how long have they been at it?"

            "I'm not sure. Seems like a long time to me, but I don't know the language. If I could follow the conversation it wouldn't seem as long. Can you understand any of it?"

            "Not really, just a couple words here and there. I heard them mention 'Imladris' once, but that's about it."

            "Imladris?"

            "That's Rivendell, remember?"

            "Oh, right. I bet we're slowing them down a lot by tagging along. Putting them behind schedule or whatever."

            "I didn't think of that . . . He offered to help us though – we didn't ask to tag along ourselves."

            "Yeah, but he didn't really discuss it with the others. I bet that's what's happening now. And they're probably more worried about Sama –"

            "Shh! don't say that name. Jesus!" He laughed at me.

            "You're really that scared still?"

            "Justin, in case you haven't figured it out by now, this is all real. It's real! I'm not making it up this time! You saw her too – you were there!"

            "Hey, calm down! I was just teasing. There's no harm in the name you know. And you remember what Hermione Granger said, don't you?"

            I sighed heavily; I hated it when he used my faultless geek-memory against me!

            "'Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself,'" I recited.

            "That's right. You might as well heed that advice as long as we're in a parallel universe anyway. Who knows? We might end up in Diagon Alley next!"

            I rolled my eyes at him, but I knew he could be right. At this point, I was willing to believe anything was possible.

            Legolas approached us; the other Elf was mounting his horse already.

            "Is something wrong?" I asked, seeing his fair features contorted with anxiety.

            "We must leave this forest," he said, fear clouding his eyes, "The danger is closer than I thought, and not just the one that stalks you. Come, we must leave quickly. We've already lost too much time as it is." As he spoke his white horse wandered over to him, as if reading his wishes. Justin and I stood up shakily, our remembered fear from the previous day coming back to us at full force. I suddenly recognized the cloak I was wearing: it was the same one Legolas had worn (or, at this point, was going to wear) at the Council of Elrond. _He gave me his own cloak during the night, I realized, running my fingers along the soft folds of the soft, sand-colored fabric. And I wondered . . ._

            The chestnut-haired Elf (whom I later learned was named Malfanaion) was leading Justin to his horse. Legolas mounted his horse and motioned for me to come closer.

            "Come on," he said, extending his hand to me, "You ride in front of me this time. You can sleep if you need to – I promise not to let you fall."

            I could feel myself going weak in the knees listening to that clear, resonant voice and seeing those shining eyes gazing into mine so intently. Wonderstruck, I took his hand and let him help me onto the horse, in front of him.

            The horses ran even quicker this time; I was glad Legolas was behind me, to keep me from falling off. Also, I was very much enjoying being so close to him. I forgot the danger in that moment, my attention focused solely on my fantastic surroundings and the kindness this beautiful creature was showing me. I feel guilty admitting this, but for a short while I completely forgot that Justin was there with me. The Elven steeds flew swiftly through the last of the thick trees of the forest. We left Mirkwood behind us, turning south to follow the Great River. It took my breath away when I saw it: it was amazingly blue, untouched by the pollution of modern industry, and roared with a powerful voice. Further to the west I could see the majestic peaks of the Misty Mountains; I barely had time to take it all in as we were speeding down the banks so quickly. I peered south, trying to get a glimpse of the Argonath if I could, but we were too far away. When I adjusted to the rhythm of the hoof-beats I felt quite comfortable, and some of the events of the past – Had it only been twenty-four hours? – came back to me, filling my head with unanswered questions. I turned my face back towards Legolas; I was surprised at first seeing his own face so close to mine. He was staring straight forward fixedly, his delicate jaw set. I wondered whether it was a good idea to ask him what I was thinking . . . _Only one way to find out!_ I reasoned.

            "Legolas?" I asked quietly.

            "Yes?" His soft eyes met mine; I faltered for a moment, seeing that I had his full attention.

            "How did you know about . . . you know . . ." I said awkwardly.

            "Samara?" he asked. The air didn't react when he said the name, not the way it had when I'd said it; it sounded almost lovely spoken by his gentle voice.

            "Yes," I answered.

            "You told me."

            "What do you mean?"

            "You were afraid of something; I didn't know what at first. I could see it in your eyes. You're still afraid. I don't understand what she is, or why she followed you here. Could you have done something to provoke her?"

            "No! I mean, I never . . ."

            "Yes? What is it, Esther?"

            I didn't know how to explain it to him. He surely wouldn't know what a video-tape was, much less why I would have to watch one to get Samara to come after me. And I hadn't even watched it! Which is why I didn't understand it either.

            "But," I continued, deciding to avoid the subject for the time being, "You understood so quickly. You knew that she was still watching us."

            "We can all sense evil, Esther."

            "We? Elves, you mean?"

            "No, all of us. Including you."

            "Really?"

            "Is that so hard to believe?"

            I considered this; I had felt a certain apprehension that night when Justin and I had gotten home. I had ignored it, of course, because I'd been skittish ever since seeing _The Ring_ and had written the reaction off as paranoia. Had she been tracking me all this time? Why me? Why was I so important?

            "I don't understand," I said finally.

            "Nor do I," said Legolas, "But you will, in time. Be still now; we have a long journey ahead of us yet."

            I sighed sleepily, and then faced forward again, allowing myself to rest back against him.


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer:** With the exception of Esther and Justin, all of the characters in this story belong to their respective authors and not to me. I'm not making money off of any of this.

Author's Note: Here is Chapter 3! This is where it gets a little scarier, so brace yourselves. Let me know what you think!

-- Arwen Tinuviel

Chapter 3

            Our pace was quick, and the Elven horses seemed to fly over the ground before us without even touching it. I wondered how long I'd slept before we set off in the pre-dawn that very morning. The sun was blazing brightly now, glittering on the crystal-clear waters of the Anduin, but the air was cool. It must have been early autumn, if I remembered correctly: if we were to reach Rivendell at the time of the Council of Elrond, which I assumed we were, then at this moment it would have to be sometime in early or mid-October. October 24th was the date Gandalf gave Frodo when he finally woke up, after being healed by Lord Elrond himself. I worked out the storyline in my head; I was guessing that Arwen was just taking Frodo across the Ford of Bruinen, leading him away from the Ringwraiths.

            _No, wait, I remembered, _It___ wasn't Arwen in the books. It was Glorfindel who met the Hobbits and Aragorn outside of Rivendell. Then I wondered which story was really true. . ._

            As quick as the Elven steeds were, they couldn't run forever. We eventually stopped to let them rest and took some food and drink for ourselves. That was when I had my first taste of Lembas. Malfanaion and another dark-haired Elf passed small pieces of the sweet whey bread to everyone in our company, and they all filled their water flasks from the river. Legolas stood on the stony bank of the river, gazing south toward the Old Ford. It was still a far way away, but we would reach it by nightfall, he said. We would cross the ford at dawn, heading west towards the Misty Mountains. We would have to take the Red Horn Pass to reach Rivendell. That part worried me a bit, but I knew that Elves would probably have an easier time making their way over Caradhras, seeing as they could walk on snow. But still, I had a creepy dead girl after me – who knew what damage she could do if we got lost in the mountains?

            I took a bite of Lembas; it was sweet, but not sugary. It was like nothing I'd ever tasted before; they were a bit like honeyed rice-cakes, but not sticky or hard to chew. It didn't take much to make us feel replenished either, but of course I wasn't surprised. I finished my ration, then walked over to stand next to Legolas. He glanced down at me thoughtfully.

            "What are you thinking, Esther?" he asked softly.

            "Nothing," I replied, but of course it wasn't true. His eyes searched mine curiously; he wouldn't demand that I tell him the truth, but he could see that I was hiding something.

            "I'm afraid," I said finally, "I don't understand what's happening here."

            "Neither do I. But you need not worry, child: Lord Elrond will know how to help you."

            "How much longer before we reach Rivendell? After we cross the Ford, I mean."

            "If all goes well, after we cross the Ford our journey will be seven days."

            I felt a cold shudder run through me. Seven days. . . That couldn't be good. . .

            "What are you thinking, Esther?" he asked again, sensing my fear.

            "I . . . I just wish I knew how to make it stop."

            He nodded sympathetically; he could see that I was much more terrified of Samara than I was letting on. I felt reasonably sure that she wouldn't be able to reach me while I was still in the company of the Elves, but after that. . . What would happen afterwards? I didn't want to think about it.

            So, I left Legolas and headed off into the woods lining the river. I tried to be discreet about it: I didn't want to say anything to any of them, but I really, really had to go to the bathroom. It's not a hindrance one usually considers in these fantasy worlds, but I guess there's no helping it in real life. I hated being alone for any length of time, but I went as deep into the woods as I could stand, and relieved myself quickly. I sighed. There was a small stream by my feet that flowed in from the Anduin, so I knelt down and rinsed my hands in the water. I stayed there for a while, letting the cool water slip through my fingers. Feeling peaceful and refreshed, I stood up again. And there she was.

            The tangled mass of black hair hung in front of her face as she bent her head downward, reaching down almost to her knees. Her dirty white gown hung in fragile tatters, clinging to her small frame the way Spanish moss clings to the branches of a Bald Cyprus tree. Even though I couldn't see her face, I could feel her gaze on me, and I felt my body go rigid. My breath caught in my throat when I tried to scream; I was choked by the effort. _So, this is what this feels like, I noted wryly, __I'm paralyzed with horror._

            Then I heard a low rumble in the air. The atmosphere thickened; she was coming closer. I can't explain it: she didn't move at all, and neither did I, but I felt her coming closer, drawing me to her against my will. I could see nothing but the thick, matted hair, just barely shielding me from her features. My heart rattled furiously against my ribcage; it was getting more and more difficult to breath. The low rumble was slowly building to a deafening roar; the ground shook underneath me, and I found that I could no longer feel my own body. Then she lifted her head, only slightly, and just behind the heavy veil I saw the gleam of two dark, empty eyes, alive with malice.

            I heard my own scream, muffled and far-away sounding, just before I slipped into darkness. Strange images flashed in front of me: an enormous round eye, a horse's eye; a long, wooden ladder that came crashing to the ground; a small chair inside an otherwise empty room; a great tree lit up like a fire by the setting sun streaming through behind it; and a small, flickering ring of white light that shone down from far above in the black sky. I felt helpless with terror, unable to stop the visions from coming and unable to wake from the horrible dream Samara had somehow caught me in.

            But then a soft, clear voice entered my consciousness. The images faded away as the voice grew louder.

            "Lasto beth nîn," it said quietly, "Talo dan nan galad." I felt myself back in my body again; the nightmare was over. As consciousness returned to me, I realized I was tightly clutching the folds of some soft, heavy cloth. Strong arms held me; there was only a faint trace of the evil still clinging to the atmosphere. I opened my eyes. Legolas helped me to my feet as soon as he saw that I was awake again. I was a bit unsteady at first, and I clung to him, grasping the folds of his cloak in my fingers. He held me by the arms, helping me find my feet again. I sighed deeply; it felt so good to breathe real air again. I leaned heavily against him, still a little afraid to move.

            "Esther!" That was Justin, running over to me as I shook with the last remnants of my terror.

            "Esther," he said, his eyes wide with concern, "Are you okay?"

            I turned to face him; far behind him I saw Samara, slinking back into the darkness of the woods and disappearing again.

            "I saw it," I said, my voice small and trembling.

            "She's gone, Esther," said Legolas, tilting my face upwards so he could see my face, "She would have killed you, but something happened. Something stopped her."

            "She tried to kill me?" I asked shakily.

            "Esther," asked Justin, "Did she look you in the eye?"

            "Yes," I said, "Just for an instant. I saw her eyes."

            "I don't understand. That's how she does it. You should be dead."

            I looked up at Legolas; his soft eyes held an odd, uncertain expression.

            "We must hurry," he said finally, "She has marked you now." He took my left arm and pushed back the sleeve: there was a red bruise in the shape of small hand encircling my arm just above the wrist.

            "There will no stopping her until we reach Imladris," he said, "Come with me, quickly." He turned then, leading me back to the river to continue our journey. I prayed silently that we would reach Rivendell before the seven days had passed . . .

**The Elvish bit translates as "hear my voice, come back to the light."


	4. Chapter Four

Author's Note: Okay, I'm retelling a bit from "The Ring" now, it's a bit scary. We're almost up to Rivendell – Oh joy! So, read on and tell me what you think!

Chapter 4

            We reached the Old Ford without difficulty, and it was a long time before Samara showed herself to me again. Still, Legolas kept a very close watch over me, scarcely letting me out of his sight. I was grateful for his protection, but I also found it slightly stifling. I've always been able to take care of myself, and I take pride in that. Not even having that option anymore was a painful blow at best. The worst part was I knew that it was all "for my own good," and even though I hated to admit it, I had a feeling that I never would have made it out of Caradhras without that extra watchfulness. That was what scared me the most.

            Like I said, Samara didn't bother us again on the road for a while. But she haunted my dreams every night. She showed me all the things she'd done to the others before me: she showed me how she killed them, made me watch them die all over again, every single night. Katie's death was the worst: she was all alone in her house, except for her friend Becca who had come to spend the night. The two were watching TV in Katie's bedroom, exchanging gossip, telling ghost stories – all the things two teenagers were supposed to do at a sleepover. Eventually, the TV went off, and Becca took it upon herself to tell Katie an urban legend that was circling the school lately.

            "Have you heard about this video-tape that kills you when you watch it?" she asked, her eyes wide with the gleeful omniscience that accompanies storytelling. Katie's fawn-like face contorted with apprehension as she listened to Becca's unsettling tale of the haunted video-tape: the images were said to look like flashes from someone's nightmare, gruesome and surreal, and at the end there was a woman who turned and looked at the viewer, as if seeing them. And when it was over, the phone rang, and the voice on the other end gave the listener a cryptic message: _seven days. The rumor was that, seven days to the minute after someone watched the tape, they would die. There was a short silence after Becca finished her story as Katie gaped at her. And then . . ._

            "I've seen it," Katie confessed fearfully. Becca's storytelling bravado faded as she listened to Katie's description of what had happened the previous weekend when she and three friends had rented a cabin in the woods. They had tried to record a football game for Josh, Katie's boyfriend, but when they had played the tape back there was . . . something else there. And afterwards the phone had rung. At the time Katie had thought it was someone's idea of a sick joke.

            "You're just trying to scare me," said Becca, more to herself than to Katie. She nervously glanced away from the other girl. And then, the phone rang. Katie's eyes darted to the digital clock on her dresser: 10pm, on the dot. The two girls went downstairs together, following the harsh jangling of the ringing phone. It was Becca who first snapped out of the fearful trance to answer it. But of course, it was only Katie's mother. Becca left the room as Katie talked on the phone for a while. But as soon as she hung up, there was a sudden electric glow from the living room. Katie crept into the room nervously; the TV was on, all fuzzy. Katie grabbed the remote and turned it off. The television promptly turned itself on again. Katie darted to the television and yanked the cord out of the wall.

            I awoke with a jolt. I was shaking, and my long hair clung to the sweat on my forehead. I rubbed the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to blot out the visions that had plagued me in my sleep. At least I hadn't seen the whole thing this time. _Poor Katie,_ I thought sorrowfully, _She__ was so scared. She didn't deserve to die that way. . . Every time I shut my eyes it was her face that I saw: her huge, round eyes wide with apprehensive terror and her lower lip trembling. __She knew what was going to happen, I realized suddenly, _She___ knew the whole time that Samara would come for her. She just didn't believe it until it was too late. My heart went out to the poor girl; I wished there was something I could do to help her, or her family at least._

            I sat up and looked around, trying to remember where we'd last stopped. We were in a small cove, sheltered from the angry cold of Caradhras. It was still very dark. The Elves didn't sleep – they didn't need to – but a few of them were resting against the walls of the mountain while we were stopped. Justin was asleep still. I felt a pang of jealousy as I watched him; no doubt _his dreams weren't riddled with the grisly deaths I was subjected to each night. I wanted so badly to just sleep for once, and rest. I hadn't slept soundly for at least a week. And we were still days away from Rivendell. It was taking longer than Legolas had at first anticipated; Justin and I were slowing them down._

            I looked towards the mouth of the cove; Legolas was standing guard, watching the gales pitch the snow back and forth across the paths that he knew we would have to cross soon. I got up and walked over to him. I felt the chill in the air the minute I left the warm cocoon of my cloak. (The Elves had found me a spare one to wrap up in.) I rubbed at my arms, trying to warm up a bit. Legolas turned when I reached him.

            "Can't you sleep?" he asked quietly.

            "No," I replied dully, "Well, I can, but . . ."

            "She haunts your dreams now."

            "Yes. How do you know so much anyway?"

            Legolas grinned amusedly at my comment, but he didn't answer. He turned back to the wind storm outside. His smooth features seemed to glow in the soft light of the moon filtering through the swirls of snow and darkness; his flaxen hair stirred softly in the breezes that crept into the cove. _God, he's beautiful, I thought, watching him. I was immediately ashamed of myself for the thought – what was I doing? He was there to protect me, and besides he was about three thousand some-odd years old, wasn't he? It would never work out. We came from two different worlds – it was just impossible. Legolas glanced back at me, immediately seeing my troubled expression._

            "What is it, Esther?" he asked gently. God, why did he have to be so understanding?

            "Nothing," I lied, "I just . . . I'm so tired."

            That part at least was true. My mind went back to the day when Samara had found me in the woods, when Legolas had woken me from my trance and held me while I recovered from the unsettling experience. I silently wished he would hold me like that again, if only to keep me warm. He turned back to me and came back into the shelter of the cove.

            "You need to rest," he said, guiding me back to where my cloak lay on the floor.

            "I want to," I said, sitting down in my little nest, "But every time I close my eyes, I . . ."

            "What do you see? What has she shown you?"

            "When I go to sleep, she shows me all the people she's killed. She makes me watch them die, over and over again. And the worst one–" My breathing hitched as I started to cry, thinking back on the scene she'd just shown me.

            "I didn't even see the whole thing," I sobbed, "But I know how it ends. And just thinking about it . . ." I covered my face with my hands. I hated crying in front of other people; it doesn't happen that often. I'm usually pretty good at keeping up a bold front, and when I do cry, I try to do it in private. It makes me feel weak. I didn't want him to see me that way. I heard him sit down close to me, and then I felt a warm hand gently pulling my hand away from my face. I looked up; Legolas was gazing at me, a look of inexpressible sorrow in his eyes. He raised a hand to brush the tears from my face as my sobs subsided.

            "This is a cruel game she's playing with you," he said, "But I think you are much stronger than she anticipated."

            "Really?"

            "Yes. You are stronger even than you know."

            He took his hand away. I was so tired . . . I lay down again on my cloak, draping one edge of it over me for warmth. I felt myself drifting back into sleep, but I held onto consciousness for as long as I could – I didn't want any more nightmares.

            "Sedho, Esther," I heard Legolas whisper, "Losto."

            And I slept. And I didn't dream again for many days after that.

**Elvish translations:

_sedho: be still; be quiet_

_losto_: sleep


	5. Chapter Five

Caradhras was more difficult to cross over than I had ever imagined. I had gone hiking before, even climbed mountains, but I had never trudged through waist deep snow covering sharp, rocky terrain on a steady incline of a mile-high mountain with a mind of its own. Not to mention I was sleep deprived thanks to Samara and had creepy images sticking in my subconscious mind no matter how hard I tried to focus on something else. It made for difficult climbing, to say the least. The Elves could walk on top of the snow, but the horses were more difficult to manage. We had to carry some of their load ourselves to keep them from getting stuck in the drifts from the weight of it. It was freezing cold the whole time, of course. Justin wasn't as bothered by it as I was – he loves that kind of extreme hiking stuff. I usually do too, but this was a little different. I wasn't entirely convinced that we would make it. We had no safety equipment or anything – the drop was too long to even think about if we fell. I knew that the Elves took this treacherous path all the time and thought little of it, if anything. But I was still incredibly nervous the whole time.

Then finally, one day Legolas ran on ahead of us to the edge of the ledge we were on. He crouched close to the ground ahead of us, then turned back with a bright smile and motioned for us to come closer. He stood up again when I reached his side and directed my gaze across the vast expanse of land below us toward a tiny, jewel-like oasis tucked in the valley, almost hidden entirely from view.

"Look, Esther," he said, laying a hand on my shoulder, "There lies Imladris, the home of Lord Elrond and of Arwen Undomiel, the Evenstar of our people."

I felt excitement mingled with an inexplicable sense of awe as it dawned on me exactly what I was looking at.

"Rivendell," I murmured. I looked back at Justin, who was just behind me, looking down at the valley over my shoulder. He grinned broadly at me, his eyes lit up with the same thrilled anticipation I was feeling.

"We made it, Esther," he said, "Can you believe it?"

I laughed; I didn't know what else to do. The sound just bubbled out of me like I was a child on Christmas morning. It was so beautiful, even from a distance: I could see the rich gold and red colors of the trees, tucked inside the fork of a sparkling blue river, and if I strained my eyes I could just make out little pieces of the Elven architecture inside, carefully built around the growing trees so that nothing had to be cut down. I looked back at the other Elves in our company; they all wore an expression of serenity and joy. I'm not sure how to describe it – they looked so peaceful upon first glance, but I could see the massive relief just barely contained in those beautiful faces.

"Come," said Legolas, turning back to the path, "We have nearly reached our destination. Quickly, your safety is still at stake here," he added to me, not that I needed reminding. In that instant though, I saw a quick flash of something unfamiliar in his eyes. It was like concern, but different somehow. The look was vaguely shielded, almost as if he didn't want anyone to see it, and it passed away very quickly. I had never seen a look like that before, at least not directed at me. We followed him down the path, our hope strengthened by the promise of our journey's end not far away.

We were off of the mountain by nightfall, and although Justin and I were both very tired we were as eager of the rest of them to reach Rivendell as soon as possible. So we mounted the horses again, Justin riding with Malfanaion and myself riding with Legolas, and kept going. I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have because when I awoke we were just arriving. The horses passed under an elaborately carved archway to stop in the clearing just beyond. I gasped; there were delicately shaped buildings that seemed to grow from the trees themselves, stone carvings lining the forest paths, and everywhere the leaves fell, covering the ground with a thick, many-colored carpet. In the distance I could hear the rushing water from the nearby ravine. I looked up; high on one of the carved platforms, peering through the trees with worry creasing his brow, stood none other than Gandalf the Gray.

Our company departed quickly, leaving Justin and I little time to marvel at our surroundings. Legolas glanced back at me as we led the horses away, his eyes shadowed with uneasy fear.

"What is it?" I asked him. But he shook his head, so I waited. After the horses were stabled and the others led Justin in the heart of Rivendell, Legolas took me aside.

"Now that we're here," he began gravely, "The purpose of our journey comes back to me. We've come here bearing ill news."

"What news?" I asked; surely I knew that part of the story?

"A prisoner has escaped our nets in Mirkwood. I have come on behalf of my father to inform Lord Elrond of this danger."

An escaped prisoner. . . Why couldn't I remember? Then, all the sudden, the answer came to me. I'm not sure how I knew, because it wasn't from memory. I think I may have read Legolas' mind in that instant.

"Gollum," I murmured. He nodded.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.

"Because you are my responsibility now," he said, "I must add your story to the one I already bear. Tell me what you saw in your dreams."

"What?" I wasn't ready for that.

"Please," he repeated, "I must know more about this specter that haunts you, if I am to ask Lord Elrond to protect you. What did you see? What did she show you?"

Cautiously I let my mind wander back to the scene in my dreams, the vision of Katie's death. I hadn't seen all of it, but I had seen the terror in her face. That was enough for me.

"I saw –" I gasped sharply; she was Here. I didn't see her, but I knew it. I could feel her presence very close to me. She invaded my mind again, and I was back in the dream, in the vision.

"No," I whimpered; I watched Katie pull the electric cord out of the wall again, and the television went silent. I realized suddenly that I wasn't asleep; I could still feel the ground under me, and I was standing upright. I reached out frantically for something to grab onto, hoping that Legolas was still there with me. He caught one of my hands in his and pulled me close. The vision didn't leave me; I watched as Katie ran out of living room, stopping short at the bottom of the staircase in the front hall. She gazed up at the stairs, frozen, looking up into the dark hallway above her.

"Who is she?" I heard Legolas ask, his voice strangely faraway-sounding.

"Can you see this?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes."

I squeezed his hand tighter, feeling some of the fear melt away with the knowledge that I wasn't alone this time. Katie's mouth dropped open as she tried to speak.

"Becca?" she called in a small voice, "Can you hear me?"

There was no answer. Katie stared up at the dark staircase one moment longer, then bolted up the stairs as fast as she could. She paused again at the top, looking down the dark hallway; there was water on the floor. A thin film of wetness crept out from under her bedroom door, covering the polished wood of the hallway; the crystal doorknob was dripping.

"I don't want to see this," I whispered.

"Wait," said Legolas, his voice impossibly calm.

Katie moved towards the door, breathing shakily, almost as if she was drawn against her will. Her small hand closed around the crystal doorknob. She turned it and pushed the door open. Her gaze immediately found the television at the foot of the bed. Then everything seemed to happen at once: There was a blast of angry static from the TV, then Katie's deafening scream filling the air as a blur of something, lightening-fast, charged towards her. Then it was over.

I opened my eyes. I was shaking; my hand, still grasped by Legolas, was cold and sweating. I looked up into his eyes; inside them was a look of astonishment and horror, accompanied by deep sorrow. He put his other hand on my shoulder; immediately I stopped shaking.

"Do you know what happened afterwards?" he asked quietly.

I nodded weakly.

"She died," I said, "All of them did. The others that watched it with her."

"The others?"

"I don't know how to explain it to you. You wouldn't understand."

I pulled away from him, hiding from that penetrating gaze of his, and made my way back to the stables. I sat on a stone bench next to the forest path, just thinking. It occurred to me that Legolas probably didn't know that Justin and I were from a different time. I really like the idea of having to explain the haunted videotape to him. He wouldn't get it. It was too technological, too futuristic. And the way he looked at me, like he was trying to see straight through me – it made me uncomfortable. At least that's what I kept telling myself.

_Oh, who am I kidding?_ I thought finally, _I'm crazy about him._ I got up and started pacing back and forth, the way I always do when I have too much to think about. I didn't want to fall for Legolas – but why not? He was perfect: he was strong, patient, kind, he seemed to genuinely care for me – and he was gorgeous, of course.

_This is ridiculous,_ I thought, _It's probably just a crush anyway. He did save me from creepy Devil-child Samara a couple times – that's why I like him, that's all. He's an Elven warrior – who wouldn't love him? And besides, what are the chances he'd love me back anyway?_

That was the tricky part: what if he did love me? It was possible, when I thought about the way he sometimes looked at me. What was I so afraid of? I mean, if I even actually had a chance to—

"Esther!"

I looked up; Justin was coming down a stone staircase behind the trees, heading towards me with a big smile on his face.

"Where have you been?" he asked, "You've got to look around – this place is amazing! It's even better than – Hey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I said quickly, reaching up to smooth my long hair back into place. (I had a habit of twirling when I got upset, and Justin knew that.) He gave me an unconvinced look, but he didn't press me further.

"Okay," he said with a shrug, "Well, c'mon lemme show you around."

He led me through the paths of Rivendell, pointing out sunlit glades, exquisitely crafted gazebos, and breathtaking views of the waterfall cascading down the ravine. Then he led me up a pearlescent, marble staircase and into an open room with a gigantic featherbed against the wall.

"This is your room," he said, "Mine's over that way somewhere," he pointed vaguely down the corridor to the left, "I'll show it to you later."

"This is so . . ." I breathed. I had no words for it: it was just incredible.

"I know, isn't it?" agreed Justin, "I'll see you later, at the banquet. Okay?"

"Banquet? What banquet?"

"There's a banquet tonight. So go get cleaned up and we'll meet everyone downstairs in like an hour. K?"

"By 'everyone' do you mean--?"

"Yep. All the Elves, and probably most of the Fellowship. They're all here somewhere. See ya!" With that he waved and was gone again, off to explore some more. I sat down on the bed and looked through the archways at the leaves that kept falling outside. And that was when it really hit me: I was in Rivendell.


	6. Chapter Six

Author's Note: Hello everyone! I'd like to thank all of my faithful readers for keeping up with this story, and for being so patient with me, and also I'd like to thank the new readers that keep popping up with their support. I feel so loved! Here is Chapter Six, finally. It's a bit longer than my previous chappies – I hope that's not a problem. Please, let me know what you think!

I had little time to marvel at my surroundings. Before long, two Elf maidens came into my chamber – servants, I supposed – to help me dress for the banquet. As they fussed over me, combing and plaiting my hair, rubbing sweet-smelling oils into my skin and wrapping me in the softest silkiest fabrics I had ever touched, I truly felt like a fairytale princess. They chattered as they attended to me, talking about the feast.

"Are there banquets like this everyday?" I asked.

"Oh, no!" said one Elf, a fair-haired girl with a soft voice, "That would be difficult indeed! Feasts like this are held only on high days, and on special occasions."

"What is the occasion this time?"

"Master Elrond commanded it," said the other Elf, her long fingers deftly weaving perfect braids into my long hair, "He wishes to welcome Frodo Baggins of the Shire, along with his companions. Preparations for the feast were made days ago when they arrived, but Frodo only awoke just this morning."

"He just awoke? What do you mean?'"

"The company was attacked by Ringwraiths," said the soft-voiced Elf, "Poor Frodo was stabbed by a Morgul blade."

"Oh," I said, remembering, then quickly added, "How horrible," after realizing that it would be better if I pretended not to know so much about the story. The Elves helped me to my feet and stepped back towards the doorway.

"There you are," said the second Elf, smiling, "You look lovely. Now go down to the feast – your friends will be waiting for you."

I looked towards the door to thank them, but they were gone. I looked down at myself; I was dressed in a pale, mossy green gown of fine silk that reached all the way to the floor. There was delicate, silvery embroidery around the waist and at the cuffs of the sleeves, and the collar was high but open at the throat. I raised my hands to touch my hair, trying to figure out exactly what they'd done with it, and realized how incredibly long the sleeves were: they reached down to my waist when I held my arms straight out in front of me. I couldn't resist spinning around in circles and watching the folds of my gown fan out and catch the light of the candles in the room. An excited giggle escaped me before I collected myself again, then I smoothed out my skirt and made my way down the halls of the House Elrond, trying to find the room where the feast was being held.

            I'm not sure how I found the feast; it was as if I was drawn there by some outside force, but a good one this time. I entered a great room with high ceilings and a long table, all lit by soft candlelight. Justin found me the minute I set foot inside the room.

            "Hey!" he said, running over to me, "Glad you're here, finally – they're getting ready to start."

            "What?" I asked, "Slow down a second – what's going on?"

            "Wow," he said, standing back as if noticing my gown for the first time, "You look . . . different. You look like an Elf!"

            I rolled my eyes, but blushed in spite of myself.

            "I think that's the idea," I said. Then I noticed he'd been dressed up too: he was wearing some sort of tunic under a velvety green coat. It was nice, but it didn't really suit him.

            "You too," I said, "You fit in perfectly!"

            "Liar," he said, then grabbed my hand and led me to the table, "Come on, this is where we're supposed to sit."

            We sat down somewhere close to the middle of the table; Justin was on my left. I looked across the table, taking in the people and scenery that was somehow already so familiar to me. On the other side of the table, slightly to the left of where we were seated, was Frodo Baggins himself. I couldn't help smiling when I saw him for the first time: he was engaged in conversation with a white-bearded Dwarf sitting next to him, his bright eyes glowing with that excited cheerfulness characteristic of all Hobbits. I remembered the scene from my first reading of the trilogy, and recognized the Dwarf as Glóin, one of Thorin's companions from _The Hobbit_, and Gimli's father.

            "You know who that is, don't you?" asked Justin in a whisper, gesturing in Frodo's direction.

            "Don't point," I scolded him, "It's rude. And yes, I know who it is. Who else is here?"

            "Elrond is there, at the head of the table, and there's Gandalf and Glorfindel next to him."

            "Wait – how do you know that's Glorfindel?"

            "I think I read the books more recently than you did. Remember our late-night play-by-play of the Council of Elrond scene in the movie?"

            "The one where we figured out who every last one of the Elves were?"

            "Yep. That's him. And I don't know if you've noticed yet, but I think you're sitting next to Arwen."

            My heart skipped a beat; I turned my head as subtly as I could to get a glimpse of her. Justin was right: there she was, sitting a bit farther off to my right in a chair under a canopy, her dark hair braided similarly to mine, but much more elegantly so. She wore grey, but a regal, silvery kind of color, with a belt of silver leaves draped loosely around her waist. On her head was a silvery kind of net, like a mesh crown, beaded with small gems and other shining ornaments. Her eyes shone like blue-black diamonds, and her gaze was focused on Lord Elrond; her expression was fixed, and difficult to read.

            It took an effort not to stare; I was so transfixed by the company that Justin and I were keeping I have no idea what was served at the feast. All I remember was that it was the most magnificent meal I had ever eaten, and still is. About halfway through the meal, Justin and I introduced ourselves to Frodo. He was delighted to meet us, even though I'm sure he had no idea who we were. He then took the liberty of introducing us to Glóin, and pointing out his companions on the other side of the table. He was all too happy to tell us both about his adventures thus far. I had to kick Justin hard under the table to keep him from asking about the journey to Mordor; I was sure that the Council of Elrond hadn't taken place yet, and it would do no good to start giving out information that we weren't supposed to have.

            After the feast was over, Arwen and Elrond both rose from the table and went out of the hall towards an enormous set of double doors, and the rest of us soon followed. Justin and I ended up falling in step with Gandalf and Frodo. The giant doors were opened and we entered a great room with stone pillars as big as trees lining a fireplace that was easily bigger than the whole of my apartment. Suddenly I noticed something, and I leaned in close to Justin.

            "Where is Legolas?" I asked in a whisper, "Didn't he come to the feast?"

            "I don't know," he whispered back, "I don't think Aragorn was there either. Did it happen that way in the books?"

            "Well, it must have," I said, "Don't you think? Our being here wouldn't affect whether Aragorn was here or not."

            "With Legolas it might."

            "I guess we'll just have to be more careful. You know, one of the first rules of time travel is that you're not allowed to change anything. You can't alter the course of history."

            "You and your bogus sci-fi theories. . ."

            "Well? If it's true, don't you think we should stick to that?"

            "Okay, fine. I was just kidding, you know."

            We stopped in front of the blazing fire. Gandalf bent down and put a hand on Frodo's shoulder. Justin and I moved closer; he was about to speak.

            "This is the Hall of Fire," he said, "Here you will hear many songs and tales – if you can keep awake. But except on high days it usually stands empty and quiet, and people come here who wish for peace, and thought."

            I lost the last bit of what he was saying because right then Justin jostled me to point out a small figure, shadowed by the firelight, sitting apparently asleep next to the great hearth.

            "It's Bilbo," said Justin with a grin. I watched as Lord Elrond himself approached the sleeping figure, speaking softly to him. The figure stirred, waking slowly. Then Frodo rushed towards him, recognizing him.

            "Bilbo!" he cried.

            Justin glanced over at me and smiled knowingly; then we followed Frodo to the older Hobbit's side.

            "Well, well!" Bilbo was saying, "So all this feasting is in your honor, I hear. I hope you enjoyed yourself?"

            "Why weren't you there?" Frodo demanded, "And why haven't I been allowed to see you before?"

            "Because you were asleep. I have seen a good deal of _you. I have sat by your side with Sam each day."_

            The two went on to describe their various adventures since their last meeting; Bilbo had been in the midst of composing a song and was anxious to finish it before the other readings and recitations began, lest he forget everything. Then Frodo introduced Justin and me to him, just as if we were lifelong friends. Bilbo welcomed us graciously of course, and then talked with us for a long while about his adventures. Sam joined us shortly after that, and of course I was delighted to meet him – he's my favorite. Well . . . aside from Legolas, I mean. Bilbo kept talking about his friend the Dúnadan, who hadn't been at the feast either.

            That was when Justin started to get antsy; he wanted to go hear the other songs and stories that were being told. I wanted to stay with the Hobbits; I was getting tired, but I wanted to stay at least long enough to meet the Dúnadan when he arrived. If memory served, then the Dúnadan was none other than Aragorn son of Arathorn, and I definitely didn't want to pass up a chance to meet him. However, I _was very tired, and I had no idea how much longer I would have to wait. So in the end, Justin and I decided to go our separate ways for the night; he would stay in the Hall of Fire until he was tired of the tales and poetry, and I would go explore the rest of the place for a little while and then go to bed._

            I left the magnificent room and wandered through the halls of the House of Elrond. I wasn't worried about getting lost; I had a feeling that whatever mysterious power had guided me to the feast would help me find my way back to my room later. I'm not sure how long I was gone, but eventually I found myself in a long, stone chamber. It was like a little museum, with murals painted on the walls and statues and other memorials in different alcoves. I turned a corner in the maze-like chamber, and noticed an oddly familiar mural on my right: it was from the Last Alliance of the Second Age, the scene in which Isildur himself cut the Ring of Power from Sauron's hand. I marveled at the exquisite detail in the painting: light seemed to gleam off the broken blade of Narsil as Isildur fell back, wielding it bravely. The Dark Lord Sauron towered over him; he seemed ready to bring his heavy iron scepter down on Isildur at any moment. I knew I had seen this painting before. . .

            Then a realization dawned on me, and I turned around. Just a little further up the corridor, on the left this time, was a graceful-looking statue holding a flat, oblong disc covered by some shimmering, satiny material. On this cloth were the broken pieces of the legendary sword; the Shards of Narsil. I knew where I was now. And I wondered. . . Carefully, I gazed further up the corridor. Sure enough, sitting just behind the statue, holding an open leather-bound book, was the Dúnadan. His dark, weary blue eyes were fixed on me, calculating but not intrusive.

            "Aragorn?" I asked tentatively; the small sound of my voice echoed coldly through the nearly-empty chamber.

            "Yes," he said, closing his book; his gaze softened.

            "You must be Esther," he said.

            I moved towards him; had I heard right?

            "You know me?" I asked incredulously.

            "Legolas told me about you," he said, "He said he found a strange girl wandering the paths of Mirkwood in the darkest hour of the night. He said her face was lit up by the starlight, and that she had a companion with her."

            "Justin."

            "Is that his name? I didn't know."

            "Legolas didn't tell you that?"

            "No; he was much more insistent that I know who _you_ were."

            _Weird, I thought,__ I wonder what he thinks is so special about me? I cautiously let myself entertain the idea that he might be falling for me, but I knew at some level that that was impossible._

            "What else did he tell you?" I asked hesitantly.

            Aragorn looked at me thoughtfully, as if he were deciding whether or not to tell me everything that Legolas had told him.

            "He said that you were being followed," he said finally, "That a ghost chased you from a different time and place, and now haunts you with dreams and visions."

            "Her name is Samara," I said; then I wondered what had prompted me to speak her name aloud again.

            "Has Legolas spoken with Lord Elrond yet?" I asked.

            "Most likely he is speaking with him now, if he has not done so already."

            "What do you make of all this? I honestly don't know what to do about it."

            "These are difficult times, Esther. The peoples of Middle Earth are about to face an ancient evil; I fear there is little protection for us to spare for you alone. That is, if the phantom that stalks you is as fearsome as I'm told."

            "I know that. I'm not sure how dangerous she is, but she has killed before and I know she won't be threatened by someone like me."

            "Won't she? Legolas also told me that she tried to kill you already, and failed. Do you not think you could be even more powerful than she is?"

            I paused; could he be right? I knew that Aragorn was very wise, and I trusted him not to lie to me, but still how could that be possible? Me, more powerful than Samara? No, that was impossible. It just didn't add up.

            "That's impossible," I said aloud, "She's approached me several times, each one more frightening than the last. She can get inside my mind and make me see things that I don't want to. Even if I could get rid of her somehow, I'd be too afraid to even get close enough to her to do it."

            "It seems to me that your fear is the only thing that gives her power over you."

            That was an interesting point; if I could just get over my fear . . . I saw her eyes again, the unfiltered evil in her fixed stare as she watched me from the other side of the stream, back on the banks of the Anduin. My lip trembled.

            "Then how do I stop being afraid?" I whispered.

            Aragorn gazed at me sympathetically; a lifetime of fear and pain was reflected in his eyes. I wondered for a moment what other evils he had overcome, and wished he didn't have to face those that awaited him just days away from this very moment.

            "You will," he said resolutely, "Or she will win. There are no other possibilities."

            I couldn't take it all in; it was too much. I only nodded to show that I had understood, and walked past him into the darkness of the corridor beyond. I could feel his gaze on me as I left; he was probably just concerned for me. He knew better than anyone what it felt like to be handed such an enormous responsibility. He was destined for far more hardships than I myself would ever have to face, and he knew it. But then something happened: I felt an odd sensation at the back of my mind, like a twinge of static electricity trying to get my attention. I stopped in my tracks; time seemed to slow down, as if it was waiting for me to do something. I of course had no idea what it expected me to do, so I just stood there, waiting. Then the world changed around me: colors melted into each other until there was just a solid blur; the air went hazy around me, neither hot nor cold; and sound faded and blended together until all I could hear was a dull, indistinctive roar. I kept waiting, and a very different setting began to take shape around me: I saw a narrow hallway with wooden floors; a girl stood at one end of the hallway with her back to me; water gleamed on the floor. The scene became clearer: the girl was approaching a door from which the water seemed to be flowing; her hand closed over the crystal doorknob. That was when I realized I was back in Katie's house, just before her death.

            _Oh, wonderful, I thought, _Another___ vision._

            But this wasn't a message from Samara. I can't explain how it wasn't – it just . . . _felt different. I found myself drifting towards a different door; this was the bathroom, brightly lit, and Becca was leaning over the sink, washing her face. It was difficult to watch her – she was completely oblivious and content now, but soon she would become the first to discover the dead girl's body. Then Katie's piercing scream filled the air. Becca jumped back, dropping the towel she had been wiping her face with._

            "Katie?" she asked nervously.

            She started for the door; I had to move aside to let her pass. I hadn't needed to do that before, and suddenly I realized something: I wasn't just watching this scene unfold like I had when Samara had shown it to me. I was there. I followed Becca out of the bathroom and into the hallway. I saw her eyes flick down to the water that covered the floor, and then she headed for the door with the crystal doorknob that was now slightly open.

            _Do you really want to follow her inside? I asked myself. And then came the answer, _Do you have a choice?__

            So I followed when Becca entered the flooded bedroom. I watched her gaze go first to the loud, staticky TV screen and then to an unfamiliar shape lodged in the closet. I stood behind her; I didn't want to see this again. I watched Becca's hands rise, trembling, to her face as she recognized the rotting, mangled form of her friend. She backed up slowly, and I realized that her hands were held just away from her face and her mouth was open in a silent scream. She shut her eyes tightly, squeezing out one tear, and then let out an ear-shattering scream that shook the very foundations of the house. The scream ended in a whimper, and then Becca took a deep, gasping breath and began to sob. I felt an irresistible urge to comfort the poor girl, but what could I do? I was sure that she couldn't see or hear me, and besides, Katie was already dead: the damage had already been done. So I reached out and put my hand on Becca's quaking shoulder. She relaxed noticeably at my touch; she was still horrified at what she'd just seen, but she wasn't trembling quite as violently now. I realized that she needed something to do; it would do her no good to stay here and keep staring at that gruesome body.

            "Becca?" I started; my own voice sounded vague and far-away. I had no idea if she could hear me, but I decided to keep talking anyway. It couldn't hurt, right?

            "Listen to me," I continued, "You have to go downstairs and call the police. Do you hear me? Go downstairs and call 911, and then call Katie's mother. Becca?"

            The sobs gradually subsided. Becca turned and walked slowly out the door; I followed her. I followed her down the narrow hallway to the top of the stairs. She stopped.

            "Just keep moving," I said.

            She reached out and gripped the banister of the staircase and painstakingly made her way down to the foyer. She turned towards the kitchen, and stopped again when she saw the phone on the wall. She clamped her hands together until the knuckles turned white. She was trembling again.

            "Pick it up," I told her, "Just pick it up – it'll be okay, I promise."

            She raised a shaking hand and placed it on the receiver, but she didn't take it off the hook.

            "Pick it up," I repeated.

            She stayed where she was, frozen to the spot, her breath quickening until at last she snapped out of her zombie-like trance and whipped the phone out of it's cradle and pressed it against her ear, punching in the numbers as she did so. I heard the faint ringing on the other end, and then a soft click and a voice saying _911, Emergency Response. I breathed a sigh of relief; now that Becca could talk to another person, she'd be okay. I saw the colors in the room swirling into obscurity as I drifted back to the stony corridor in Rivendell. I still wasn't sure what had just happened, but the message was clear: there was nothing I could do for Katie, but Becca – Becca was still alive. Becca I could help._


	7. Chapter Seven

Author's Note: Hello everyone! For all the people on my mailing list, I'm having issues with my Yahoo! account right now, and that's why I haven't sent out an alert for this chapter. Sorry about that! As soon as I work out what the problem is, I'll get everything up and running again. So here are my announcements: right after this gets posted, I'm changing the name of this story to "The Peacemaker," but I'll include a note in the summary about the original title. And after either this chapter or the next one (it depends how long it takes me to write) I'll move the whole thing into the Harry Potter section of the site. Thanks for all your comments everyone – please keep R+R-ing!

Chapter Seven

            I stood on a high balcony that overlooked the edge of Rivendell. Today I had a gown of deep indigo with a softly curved neckline lined with white gems; each one was cut to look like a tiny star. They had left my hair loose today. I liked it better that way – I liked being able to toss it in the wind and the open air. Just beyond the ravine, where the border of Elrond's realm ended, stood Samara. She wasn't remotely creepy-looking this time: She still wore the white dress, but it was clean, not water-stained and rotten. Her long, dark hair was parted neatly on the side and hung smoothly down her back, all the way down to her waist. This was the way she had looked in life, before she became purely demonic, before even her own mother had to face the truth of what she really was. Her mousy brown eyes peered up at me with a distinctly childlike annoyance. She was mad at me.

            It was mid-afternoon on the day after I'd had my last vision. I'd found Justin first thing that morning and told him my revelation:

            "I think I'm supposed to help Becca," I'd told him.

            "Becca?" he'd asked, "Becca Who?"

            "You know, the girl from the beginning. When they were sitting on the bed, talking about the video."

            "Oh yeah, the girl that died first. Rachel's niece, right?"

            "No, no – that was Katie. Becca's the other one."

            "Oh right! The crazy girl."

            "Justin!"

            "What?"

            "That's not very nice."

            "Well it's true, isn't it? Didn't she wind up in some asylum where they had to walk her from room to room behind a big screen because she was afraid to even look at a TV after that?"

            "Yeah, but it's still not nice. . ."

            "Okay, I'm sorry. But what are you planning to do about her?"

            "I'm not sure. I guess the first thing to do is try and find that asylum, or at least figure out where it is."

            "Well, the _first thing we have to do is figure out how to get out of here."_

            "I guess. . . I wish we didn't have to leave."

            It took Justin a few minutes to answer me; I think he could tell that I was deep in thought at that point.

            "Well," he said finally, "We can't stay here forever, you know."

            "Yeah, I know," I admitted reluctantly.

            "After the Fellowship leaves, all the Elves are gonna take off for Valinor. And the Council of Elrond starts tomorrow."

            "Seriously? How did you know that?"

            "Frodo told me. I stayed up talking to them for a while after you left last night."

            I had gone to describe my vision to him, and then I'd gone up to the balcony to try and think of way for us to get back home. I was still there – it wasn't going very well. For one thing, I had no idea how Justin and I had ended up in Middle Earth to begin with, so that made it even harder to figure out a way back out. For another, the minute I'd gotten up there I'd spotted Samara, and even though she wasn't really making any effort to frighten me at that point, she still kept me sufficiently distracted.

            But it wasn't just that. No matter I tried to focus on what I felt was my duty (to get back home and find Becca), my thoughts kept returning to one thing: If I did find a way to get us back home, would we ever be able to come back to Middle Earth again? I wasn't sure I wanted to leave if I couldn't get back again. And I know it shouldn't have been priority, but I couldn't help but wonder: If Justin and I went home, would I ever see Legolas again?

            So I stood on the balcony, watching Samara watching me, and getting more and more frustrated with my situation. Then I felt the subtle warmth of a hand on my shoulder. I didn't need to turn to know who it was; I knew his voice well by now.

            "Why do you bait her like this?" he asked, seeing Samara.

            "I'm not baiting her," I told him, "Besides, she's already angry with me."

            "Why?"

            "Because I helped someone she was trying to hurt."

            There was silence for a moment; Legolas moved to stand beside me, gazing at me with an expectant look.

            "Do you remember the vision I showed you?" I asked, "With the little girl that died?"

            "Of course."

            "She wasn't alone that night. She had a friend with her, a girl named Becca."

            "Did she die as well?"

            "No, but she went mad. She was traumatized, I think. She was the first to discover the dead girl's body. . . Legolas, something strange happened last night: I had another vision, but it was different from the others. It was like I was really there, not just watching, and I could change things if I wanted to. I saw Becca, and I followed her into the room where the other girl was killed. I helped her; I guided her away from the room so that she could go get help. That's why Samara's mad at me – she didn't want me to help her."

            The distant form of Samara scowled up at me; I wondered uneasily if she could hear us.

            "I see," said Legolas after a long while, "But that's not why you've been standing here all this time. Is it?"

            I turned and looked at him; his deep blue eyes burned into mine, and I knew he could tell what I'd really been thinking.

            "Listen," he said gently, breaking the spell, "Whatever you decide, you must remember your own world, and your own time. You cannot forsake it completely."

            "How did you know that –"

            "No – you must not ask me anything further. I cannot give you any answers. You must find them for yourself. In the meantime, you need to come with me to Lord Elrond's chambers. He wishes to speak with you."

            "He does? Why?"

            "Can't you guess?"

            I flicked my eyes down to the spot where Samara had been standing; she was gone. I couldn't decide whether I was relieved or nervous – as much as she scared me, I kind of preferred being able to keep an eye on her, just to know where she was. Of course there was only one thing Lord Elrond could possibly want me, and I had no idea how I was going to explain everything to him. Nevertheless, I couldn't refuse the summons, so I nodded and followed Legolas away from the balcony and down to the forest floor.

            We had to pass by the stables to get back to the House of Elrond. I heard the horses stamping and whinnying as we passed, and I peeked inside the door to look at them. I caught a glimpse of a gigantic horse's eye close to the door, and felt a spasm of horror in the pit of my stomach as I realized it was same eye Samara had shown me that day in the woods on the banks of the Anduin. The horse let out a terribly high-pitched neigh when it saw me, and it pulled back desperately at the reins that held it to the stall. Then everything happened at once: the horse reared and swung its head violently back and forth, trying to break free from the reins. Legolas rushed forward to restrain it, and I heard Aragorn's voice from somewhere behind me, shouting in rapid Sindarin. I sank to my knees, covering my ears to block out the horse's frantic screaming. Aragorn joined Legolas and together they managed to grab hold of the steed just as the reins snapped. The horse was outside of the stables now, rearing and kicking as Aragorn and Legolas were joined by more Elves who helped restrain it. I crawled backward; I couldn't take my eyes off the scene, and I had a horrible feeling that something was about to happen. The Elves gently coaxed the horse to the ground, getting it to fold its legs and lie still, its chestnut coat glistening with sweat. It kept its eyes on me, watching me intently as if I was something wild and dangerous.

            And then something came over my body; it didn't feel right. It was suddenly as if I was feeling everything, even my own clothes and the hair falling in front of my face, through a thick, damp gauzy material. My hands went to the ground, pushing me up into a standing position. My arms and legs felt unnaturally steady and powerful somehow.

            "Esther!" I heard Justin's voice from somewhere muffled and far away, wrought with concern and anxiety, "Esther, are you all right?"

            I felt his hand on my shoulder; I whirled around and smacked the hand away. I saw his face then: a horrible combination of dawning realization and recognition, coupled with sheer terror. And then a voice came out of me, something like my own, but all wrong somehow.

            "_She doesn't like the horses!" I snarled, "_They keep her awake at night!_"_

            "ENOUGH!" I knew that voice; the only sound after that was the uneasy stirring of the horse, struggling to get away but not straining as much as it had been. I heard soft footsteps drawing closer to me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the tall staff and the long grey beard, and quiet words were being spoken into my ear, but I couldn't hear them. Something inside me quailed, and I felt a strange flutter and a surge of cold; then my body felt normal again, but strangely exhausted. Someone caught my arm just above the elbow as I stumbled, and I looked up into the stern, worried face of Gandalf the Grey.

            "Lord Elrond is waiting for you," he said simply, his voice gentle and grandfatherly. He turned.

            "Legolas," he said, "I believe he would like to speak with you as well."

            The Elf nodded, and Gandalf led me up the stone steps into the House of Elrond. Legolas and Justin followed, speaking in hushed voices behind us. I supposed Justin was asking what had just happened, and after several moments it finally dawned on me what _had_ really happened. And I wasn't scared this time: I was insulted, and more than a little pissed-off. Did that bitch just possess me? The nerve! Oh, it was personal now. If I hadn't felt a resolve to get rid of her before then, I sure did now.

            I had trouble keeping track of where we were going; the floor seemed to pass under us so quickly. In the back of my consciousness I heard Legolas offer to carry me, but Gandalf insisted that I walk at least partially on my own. (I was clinging to his arm to keep myself upright.) He said that I needed to regain as much of my strength as possible before speaking with Elrond. We entered a large, open room with several "windows" that were really breezeways. In the center of the room was a raised space, a small dais at the top of a curved set of stairs. In a high-backed chair on the dais sat Lord Elrond, regarding me with wise, grey eyes. Arwen stood at his side. I'm not sure exactly what happened next, but I guess Gandalf must have let go of me, because I remember finding myself in a kneeling position on the floor again. I was vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, and the next thing I knew Arwen was kneeling in front of me.

            "Give me your hand," she said.

            Confused, but without the strength or the presence of mind to ask questions, I held out the hand that had hit Justin. Arwen held it palm-up to look at it. I sucked in my breath sharply: my palm was smoking, and the edge of my sleeve was singed. Arwen raised her eyes to her father, who was standing beside us.

            "What happened?" asked Elrond, turning to someone standing behind me.

            I then heard Gandalf's voice, clear and whimsical.

            "It appears that our young friend here has quite a friendly little specter in her wake," he said lightly, "I've sent her on her way, for the time being, but she will return no doubt once these two," I assumed he meant Justin and me, "Have left this realm."

            "What sort of specter? Evil has not passed these borders since the dark days."

            "A wraith of some sort, unless I am mistaken. And apparently a wielder of the _nensha."_

            I heard the rustling of movement behind me, and I turned my head to see what was going on. Gandalf was gently coaxing Justin, who looked even more frightened than I felt, forward towards Elrond. Justin then lifted his sleeve to reveal a bright red mark in the shape of a hand on his forearm.

            "Legolas," said Elrond, studying Justin's arm, "These two children traveled here with your company, did they not?"

            "They did," said Legolas, stepping forward, "The spirit seems to follow this girl more closely. The boy merely came too close to her just now, and she said something about the horses."

            Legolas looked at me uneasily.

            "She doesn't like the horses," I repeated weakly, "Because they keep her awake at night. They can sense it when she's close-by, I think."

            I looked down at my hand; Arwen had placed her own hand on top of it, and it had stopped smoking. She took her hand away and helped me to my feet. I was still shaky, but I had more control over myself now. Elrond turned to me.

            "I need you to tell me what you know about this ghost that follows you," he said, "Everything you know."

            I took a deep breath; this wasn't going to be easy.

            "I don't really know what she is," I said, "But I know she's evil. She's been following me for weeks now, but I don't know why."

            "What was it you said about the horses?"

            "Her family raised horses, and while she was alive she slept with them in the barn. They kept her awake at night."

            "Legolas told me about your visions. He said you had seen them before."

            "I never told you that," I said, turning to Legolas. He gazed back at me apologetically; he must have read my mind again.

            "If I may, Master Elrond," said Gandalf, "It seems that this girl doesn't understand this situation thoroughly enough to explain it. And given the recent events she and her companion have been through, I would think it wise to allow them time to rest before a proper interrogation."

            "Very well," said Elrond, nodding, "Arwen, take Esther back to her chambers. I would like to take a closer look at this mark before you leave, with your permission of course," He added to Justin, who nodded dazedly.

            "Lord Elrond," said Legolas, stepping forward again, "If it is necessary, I would be willing to take this girl and boy under my protection again."

            _No, no, no! I thought desperately, _You're___ supposed to join the Fellowship! Oh, this is all wrong. . ._

            "No," said Elrond, to my relief, "There are greater forces at work here than you are aware of, Legolas son of Thranduil."

            Legolas stepped back and lowered his head respectfully, masking his disappointment. Arwen led me back upstairs, and the others stayed behind, I guessed to discuss what had just happened in greater detail. I wasn't confined to my room, but I stayed there for the rest of that day and most of the next. Arwen kept me company, coaxing me outside for short spells while most everyone else was attending the Council. Justin was avoiding me. I supposed he was still shaken up from my having attacked him; I couldn't really blame him. I kept turning over Gandalf's words in my mind; was Samara really a wraith? Like the Black Riders and the Barrow Wights? They all definitely hovered in that strange netherworld between life and death, but I was sure they weren't ghosts. So, to some degree, that made sense. But what in the world was the _nensha__, and what could she do with it? What power did it give her? There were so many questions burning through my mind that I knew couldn't be answered, so I shut my mind as well as I could and stayed with Arwen. Sometime in the later part of the morning on the second day of the Council, Arwen and I found ourselves in a gazebo at the edge of the ravine. I was asking her about Aragorn, not to be intrusive, but to get my mind off of my quasi-possession of two days before._

            "He is afraid," she told me, "He bears a great responsibility to his people, and he fears that he will not succeed where all his forefathers since the days of Elendil have failed. He is the last remaining hope for the world of Men."

            "I can't imagine what that must be like," I said, "To know that an entire race of people is relying on you. . . How much longer will you be here?"

            "Me? I do not wish to leave."

            She moved away from me and stood at the open archway in the gazebo. That wasn't really what I'd meant; I had intended to ask how much longer the Elves would be staying in Rivendell, but I didn't have the heart to correct her. I silently wished I hadn't said anything. . . But then she spoke again.

            "There are dark times ahead, Esther," she said, "And not just for Middle Earth. I could not bear to leave these shores and abandon these people to the evil that waits for them."

            She turned back to me, a strangely expectant look reflected in her bright, dark eyes.

            "You're staying because of Aragorn," I said, then wondered what could possibly have made me say something so tactless.

            But she didn't seem offended.

            "Yes," she said, "He will need my help before the end. And you . . ."

            I waited. What about me? What was she getting at?

            "And I?" I asked warily.

            "You stay because of Legolas."

            I felt my face flush; hearing someone else say it aloud made it seem more real.

            "Don't worry," she said gently, "I have told no one, and I have no intention of doing so. But you should speak to him."

            I looked down into my lap and began picking at my fingernails; what did she expect me to say to him anyway? He couldn't stay with me, and I didn't want him to. I wanted everything to end exactly as it was supposed to.

            "You could stay," said Arwen, "And follow my people to the Undying Lands. You could wait for him there. Or you could return to your own world and try to destroy the ghost. But you must make a decision."

            I sighed; I knew she was only trying to help, seeing as her situation with Aragorn was so similar to mine. But I didn't want to face it, not yet. It was going to be difficult either way. . . If I went west to Valinor, I would be safe from Samara and I would be in the company of the Elves. But could I really leave my home forever? And how did I know that Samara wouldn't just follow me there, or wreck havoc on the rest of Middle Earth while I waited? And I had already promised myself I would help Becca, if I could. .

And what about Justin? I put my hands to my forehead and sighed deeply; it was all too much. I heard a quiet rustling as Arwen moved to sit down next to me.

            "You know how this is going to end, don't you?" she asked.

            I knew it wasn't really a question; she was referring to _her story, and the War of the Ring. And I did know how it would end if everything continued on the way it had been written, but I didn't know if my interference would change anything. I wasn't sure of anything anymore. And even if I was, it wasn't my place to tell her._

            "If I told you," I said quietly, "It could change everything."

            She nodded, seeming to understand. I sensed that she had already made the choice to stay, regardless of whatever I could have told her. Then the sky went dark. We both stood up and looked, and a fierce, thunderous voice that shook the earth filled the sky:

            _"Ash nazg durbatulûk,_

_            ash nazg gimbatul,_

_            ash nazg thrakatulûk agh bursum-ishi krimpatul!"_

            And then all was quiet, and the darkness lifted. Arwen looked at me with a look a deep foreboding.

            "Was that . . . ?" I began fearfully.

            "The voice of Sauron," she said, "And the Black Speech of Mordor."

            She turned her gaze back to the sky.

            "It has begun."


	8. Chapter Eight

Author's Note: Just one last reminder that this is the last chapter for the LOTR section of this story. After Chapter 9, the Harry Potter section will begin and I'll move the whole thing into the Harry Potter section of this site. Thanks for staying with me, and I'll try to get a new mailing list up and running as soon as possible!

Chapter Eight

            The next morning Justin found me, and he took it upon himself to fill me in on all the nightmares he'd had since I'd attacked him.

            "Please," I begged, "I've had enough 'visions' on my own, thanks. Do you really need to tell me about yours'?"

            "It freaked me out!" he said, "And I needed to tell somebody – I'd dwell on it too much if I just kept it to myself, you know. You're like that too. Except you never tell people what's bothering you, you just dwell on it. That's why this sort of thing gets to you more than it does me."

            "Justin, it's real. Have you figured that out yet?"

            "You still shouldn't dwell on it, it'll just make your life more difficult."

            I glared at him, but I had to admit he had a point. There was a short silence, which he interpreted as a victory, and then he spoke up again.

            "Okay," he said, "So what are you thinking about?"

            "What, now?" I asked.

            "Yeah," he said, "I can tell you're upset about something. What is it?"

            "Well, for one thing I was just worried about you. You know, because of attacking you and all. . ."

            "Oh, I know that wasn't your fault. It did freak me out, but I'm over it now."

            "I know. I don't blame you – I would've been worse off than you were."

            "I bet you would. . . Okay, so what else?"

            "Justin!"

            "C'mon, I know that's not all! I'm leaving until you tell me."

            "You'll just laugh at me. . ."

            "I've laughed at you before, you'll get over it. Now spill it."

            I gave a reluctant sigh, then said, "Okay. . . I think I'm falling for Legolas."

            There was a short silence as he took in what I'd said, then he started laughing.

            "Stop it!" I whined, "I _knew_ you'd do that, I knew it!"

            "Hey, I didn't say I wouldn't."

            "The problem is I'm trying to think of way to get us back home."

            "So you can help Becca?"

            "Yeah, partly. And I also have a feeling that Samara will leave Middle Earth when we do, and I want to get her out of here. God knows this place has enough evil to deal with without her around, you know?"

            "Yeah, I know. Just think of the damage she could do if she ever found her way to Rohan."

            "Wow, I didn't even think of that. All those horses. . ."

            "So, what does that have to do with Legolas?"

            "Well, I think I might be able to go home if I get myself into the right state of mind. Like if I – it's hard to explain. You remember that last vision I told you about? When I felt like I was really there?"

            "Yeah."

            "I went into this sort of trance that time. I think if I can make myself do that again – put myself into a trance like that – I could be able to go anywhere I want."

            "Nice. What's wrong with that?"

            "Well, nothing, except I don't think I can do it if there's a part of me that's wants to stay here—"

            "—Because of Legolas."

            "Yeah."

            "Jeez. . . Well, good luck."

            "You're no help."

            "Sorry, but I don't know what to tell you. I'm just as confused by this whole thing as you are, probably more so. Look, I'm going downstairs to get some breakfast. You coming?"

            "Okay, but afterwards I'm gonna try this trance thing and see if I can figure it out."

            "Suit yourself."

            I followed him downstairs and we ate a hearty breakfast with the Hobbits. Merry and Pippin were extremely excited about something – Pippin in particular seemed bursting to talk about it – but a few stern looks from Sam kept them quiet. Justin flashed me a knowing grin; of course they had to be thinking about the Quest, and they were probably under the impression that we weren't supposed to know about it. I was tempted to tell them that we knew already, just to put them at ease, but I knew that would lead to awkward questions as to how we knew and that would just make things worse. So I kept my mouth shut, and after I finished I excused myself and went back to my room.

            The first thing I did was sit down in the middle of the bed and shut my eyes. Then I tried to remember what it had felt like to be transported to Katie's house. The air had changed somehow, and it had looked like the whole world was melting and spinning at the same time. I concentrated hard on that memory, the thickening in the air and the muffling of the sounds around me. Nothing happened. I opened my eyes just to check, and everything looked perfectly normal; nothing had changed. Suddenly I realized that I was clutching the top sheet with both hands; I was letting my nerves get to me. I let go and tried again, shutting my eyes determinedly. I focused on searching for that tiny part of my consciousness that had awoken when I saw Becca. Still nothing.

            _Maybe I'm trying too hard, I thought, _Maybe___ I should try to relax more, or something._

            I closed my eyes again and stopped trying to focus so much. I let my mind go, trying a more meditative approach. I stayed still for several moments, trying not to get anxious. I started feeling really relaxed and sleepy, but nothing else happened. I opened my eyes again and slumped back on the bed; this was getting frustrating.

            _Okay, I thought,__ This isn't working. What am I doing wrong?_

            It occurred to me that maybe it was impossible to control the feeling, and I would just have to let the visions and slipping between worlds happen whenever they felt like it. After all, they had just happened haphazardly before. Why would it be any different now? I decided to just leave it at that and be ready for the visions when they decided to come me.

            Just then I felt a twinge in the air. I sat bolt upright, waiting. I held very still, afraid of disturbing whatever force it was that controlled the visions. And it worked! It happened faster and more smoothly this time: the room swirled gracefully out of sight and then I was in a small hallway on the outside of a closed door. But this wasn't Katie's house; I was somewhere else. The door opened and a blond woman in either her late twenties or early thirties walked out. I recognized her immediately as Katie's aunt.

            "Rachel?" I asked tentatively.

            But she didn't hear me. Her eyes were fixed on another door to my right, a door that was opened just a crack. A now familiar, sinister presence was settled inside.

            "Aiden?" Rachel called quietly; she was looking for her son.

            She opened the door and went inside. I steeled myself and followed, knowing exactly what was inside. The room was mostly empty, but right in the center of the bare wood floor was a small chair facing away from the door. And sitting in the chair was Samara, her face hidden behind her smooth veil of dark hair. A dark puddle of water had formed beneath her. She bristled when I walked in; she didn't move at all, but I felt a definite thickening of the air in the room when she realized I was there. And then she said something. She never spoke aloud, but I heard her voice as clearly as if she had: _You're not supposed to be here._

            And then my annoyance at having been possessed sparked up again; she was _so not going to start giving me orders now._

            "So, make me leave," I muttered challengingly.

            The tension in the air relented a bit, but didn't leave entirely. She was still angry, but she couldn't get rid of me yet. Not here with Rachel watching. Her lure for the older woman was working perfectly, and she wasn't about to give it up now. Rachel moved closer to the stone-still figure in the chair, coming around the side of the chair to see her face. Her mouth dropped open slightly when she realized that the face was covered. She was standing very close to Samara.

            _Back away, I thought pleadingly, _Just___ turn around and go back through the door. Just get out._

            Quick as lightening, Samara's hands shot up and seized Rachel's wrist. Rachel gasped sharply, struggling to pull herself away.

            "Let her go!" I yelled.

            Then the scene shifted. Rachel sat up suddenly in her bed, her face contorted with confused terror. She looked down at her left hand and pulled back the sleeve; her skin was bruised red in the shape of a small hand circling her wrist.

            My head spun as I was whisked back to my bedroom in Rivendell. My eyes popped open; I was breathing hard and I felt drained of energy. But it wasn't a bad feeling – it was actually kind of like I'd just come back from a brisk walk. I felt tired, but refreshed, like I'd accomplished something worthwhile. I wondered why I hadn't felt that way before, but then I remembered that after my encounter with Becca I'd been in a sort of dazed euphoria, because that was when I'd realized I wanted to help her.

            _I still haven't figured out how to get home, I reminded myself, _But___ this is a start at least._

            Gradually I became conscious of my current surroundings again, and then I noticed the soft, reassuring warmth of a hand holding onto mine. I looked down and saw Legolas kneeling at the foot of the bed, gently holding my hand in his.

            "I need to talk to you," I said distractedly.

            "Who was the blond woman?" he asked, as if he hadn't heard me.

            "Rachel," I said, "Katie was her niece."

            "Did they both die?"

            "No. Samara spared Rachel."

            "Why?"

            "Because she . . . helped her. She didn't mean to, but Rachel made it easier for her to reach her victims. I'm not sure how – I don't really understand what happened."

            Legolas stood up, taking my other hand and bringing me with him.

            "No one understands this fully yet," he told me, "But there is one thing I know for certain: that girl must be destroyed."

            "I know," I mumbled, "I'm working on that. . ."

            "There is so much terror in this world now. More than I had imagined. The greatest enemy Middle Earth has seen since the First Age has risen again, and one of our most powerful allies has betrayed us. And then you appeared here, out of the nets of time, bringing a new evil with you."

            "But I didn't mean to!"

            "I know that. But she must be fought. Esther, I will not be staying here much longer. I have given myself to a quest, to fight the evil we once thought was perished. And you need to do the same."

            I looked up at him; his jaw was set and his gaze was sincere. Was he suggesting that I go to Mordor with them?

            "I do not ask you to join the quest," he said, reading my thoughts, "But you must do something about the specter that followed you here. It's you she wants, no one else."

            "How do you know that?"

            "Because she clings to you. I never told you during our journey how closely she watched you, but you will not escape her until she is destroyed."

            This was exactly the opposite of what I had intended to happen: instead of me telling him that I had to leave, he was telling me that _he was leaving, and that I should go back home and get rid of Samara. If only I could figure out how to get back in the first place. Suddenly I became aware that he still had both my hands held in his; he was standing very close, and his eyes held that strangely unguarded look again._

            "I know you're afraid," he said softly, "But you must not give up hope. You have to believe in yourself."

            I felt a lump rise in my throat; he wanted me to leave. He wanted me to leave Middle Earth and take on Samara by myself. But at the same time, he wanted me to stay. With a jolt, I finally realized what that unguarded look meant. I shut my eyes just to shield myself from his gaze.

            _You have to tell him, I told myself firmly, _This is the only chance you've got.__

            "I can't do it," I whispered shakily, "And not just because I'm afraid. I don't want to leave you."

            I looked up again hesitantly, wondering what he would say next. He gazed at me quietly, searching my eyes deeply as if he was trying to read my thoughts again. Then without a word, he tightened his hold on my hands, pulled me even closer, and kissed me. It was all I could do to keep from breaking down right there and then; everything I'd been feeling since the day Justin and I had wandered into Mirkwood came rushing to the surface of my consciousness, and it was almost too much to bear. I was so confused; here I was, in the setting of my most perfect daydreams, in the arms of the only person I'd ever allowed myself to fall in love with, still being pursued by the creature that haunted my most horrible nightmares. It was everything I'd refused to take in over the past month, everything I'd been trying to tell myself was just some wildly realistic dream, no matter how many times I'd told Justin it wasn't. There was only one thing I could do; I kissed him back. He let go of one of my hands and slid his hand behind my head, drawing me deeper into the kiss. It seemed to last for an eternity, but when we parted I felt like it had lasted only an instant. Legolas stroked my hair and rested his forehead against mine.

            "I don't want to leave you either," he whispered, "But that is not for either of us to decide. You understand why, don't you?"

            I nodded, and leaned heavily against him, clinging to his shoulders for support. He embraced me warmly and didn't say another word. I don't know how long we stood like that. My mind was racing; even with the breakthrough I'd just made, I knew there was no way I could concentrate on getting back home now. I wouldn't stop trying, but I had absolutely no confidence that I would be successful. I didn't want to even think about it.

            Legolas told me that he, along with the rest of the Fellowship, would be leaving the following morning at daybreak. He wanted me to meet him under an archway near the gates to Rivendell beforehand. I wasn't sure why, but I agreed instantly. There was so much to think about now. . . After he left, I returned to my bed and forced myself to think of a different way to get back home. I sighed; it was going to be a long wait until tomorrow morning.


	9. Chapter Nine

Author's Note: Okay everyone, here begins the Harry Potter part of the story. It's just hinted at here so far, but there is more to come. I'll be moving the whole thing into the HP section soon, but I will give it several days just to make sure that everyone knows about the change. Thanks for all your reviews everyone – keep 'em coming!

Chapter Nine

            Legolas was already waiting for me when I came to the archway. He was equipped for the dangerous journey ahead, his bow and quiver strapped to his back, along with a pair of long, white knives. He saw me quickly, and beckoned me closer to him.

            "Don't go," I pleaded, "Please, you have no idea what's going to happen out there."

            "Esther—"

            "It's no use! I already know you're not going to make it all the way to Mount Doom, and the others—"

            "Stop! Enough of this. Falling into to despair will help no one, me least of all. I did not ask you here to sway me from the oath I've already made. I must help to rid this world of evil, just as you should do for yours."

            I put up my hand to wipe my angry tears away. He was right, of course. I don't know what came over me; I had just desperately, selfishly wanted him to stay with me, and to forget about all the bad things happening around us.

            "I know," I said, "I'm sorry. It's just that . . . I'm afraid I'll never see you again. And I'm afraid of doing this alone."

            He reached out and touched my cheek.

            "You won't be alone," he said gently, "And you need not be afraid. You have a light inside you, Esther."

            "What do you mean?"

            "Didn't you ever wonder how I found you, stranded in the depths of Mirkwood in the dead of night? The darkness fell away where you walked. I came to you to find out where the light was coming from."

            My mouth dropped open slightly; was he serious? How was that possible? But he didn't give me any further explanation. He simply leaned in close to me and kissed me soundly. I closed my eyes, wishing bitterly that the moment would never end. Tears welled up behind my eyelids. When we parted I felt something warm and soft sweep over my shoulders, and then I heard his voice again.

            "Look after your friend," he said, "I will not forget you, Eledhwen."

            When I opened my eyes again he was gone. I reached up to touch the warm, soft thing around my shoulders, and I realized he'd given me his cloak again, this time to keep. I only let myself cry for a moment, then pulled myself together to see the Fellowship off at the gates of Rivendell. Arwen was there already, and tears were beginning to bloom in her eyes too. I envied her; at least she would be in the same dimension as her Aragorn.

            _There's a good reason Elves and Humans don't get together that often, I told myself sternly, __It__ hardly ever works out._

            Justin came and stood next to me; he had the decency not to ask me anything at least, but I could tell he really wanted to talk to me. Gandalf passed by on my right, and came over to wish us well.

            "Allow me to wish you both the best of luck on your own quest," he said, laying a hand each on Justin's shoulder and mine, "There are dark times ahead for all. Farewell."

            He turned away from us, and then turned back to add, "And do give my regards to the Headmaster, should you see him," and then joined the rest of the Fellowship with a knowing twinkle in his eye. I glanced over at Justin questioningly; he just shrugged. Then Elrond joined us and everyone fell silent. The Fellowship were gathered just in front of the gate; Frodo stood at the front of the group, looking impossibly small and frightened. I noticed Aragorn standing near the back with a bright jewel that gleamed like a star clasped around his throat. I couldn't bring myself to look at Legolas again.

            "This is my last word," he said gravely, "The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On him alone is any charge laid: neither to cast away the Ring, nor to deliver it to any servant of the enemy nor indeed to let any handle it, save members of the Company, and only then in gravest need. The others go with him as free companions, to help him on his way. Yet no oath, no bond is laid upon you to go further than you will. Farewell, and may the blessings of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you."

            "The Fellowship awaits the Ring-bearer," said Gandalf.

            They moved aside to let Frodo pass through the gates before them, and then, one by one, all the Fellowship disappeared from sight. I had begun crying again without realizing it; I shut my eyes and tried not to think of the one idea that kept dominating my consciousness: _I'll never see Legolas again._

            "Hey," said Justin tentatively, "Um, Esther? I think you finally—"

            "Justin, do me a favor," I said abruptly, "Don't talk to me for a minute, okay?"

            I reached up and wiped my tears away with both hands.

            "Okay, sorry," said Justin, "But we're back."

            It took several seconds for me to register what he'd said, but when I did, my eyes popped open. He was right: we were back in the woods just outside my apartment building, and through the trees I could just make out the vinyl siding on the back wall.

            "You did it, Esther!" said Justin, beaming at me, "You brought us home!"

            "But I . . . I didn't do anything. It just sort of . . . happened. Like the way it did before."

            Stunned, I walked out of the woods and back up to the apartment. Justin walked with me, and he kept talking but I didn't really hear him. We reached the hallway outside my apartment; the floor was still soaked, as if to assure us that everything we'd just been through hadn't been a dream. I started for the door.

            "Esther, don't," said Justin fearfully, "Legolas said she'd attack us as soon as we left Rivendell."

            "She's not here," I said, closing my hand around the doorknob, "I think this is a warning."

            "Warning? What do you mean?"

            "Just to let us know she's still after us."

            "How do you know she's not in there?"

            "I'm not sure. . . But she's not there, I just know it."

            I glanced back at him, my hand still around the doorknob. He swallowed nervously, then nodded.

            "Well," he said, "Only one way to find out."

            So I turned the knob and opened the door. She wasn't there. Justin and I breathed a joint sigh of relief and went inside. The place was a mess: there was water everywhere, soaking into the carpet and hardwood floor, rotting anything that had been left too close to the ground. The TV in the den area was buzzing with static. I glared at it resentfully.

            "I don't think I can stay here," I said.

            "What are you going to do?" asked Justin.

            "I need to get moving. You know, go and find Becca like I said I would. And then. . ."

            "I hope you're not planning to do all that alone."

            "I feel like I'm supposed to."

            "No way – I'm gonna help you. I know just as well as you do how important this is. Listen, why don't you get all your stuff – y'know, clothes, money, just stuff you really need – and meet me back at the car. I have an idea."

            I was too dazed to argue, so I packed up everything I could and headed for the door. Then, almost as an afterthought, I grabbed my set of Tolkien's books and followed Justin outside to his car. He drove us back to his place and, to my surprise, packed up all his things just like I'd done and then drove us somewhere else.

            "Okay, what's going on?" I asked, "Where are we going?"

            "To the airport," he said with a grin, "Okay, so here's my idea: if you're serious about getting rid of Samara, then you're probably going to need some magical assistance. Right?"

            "I guess. . ."

            "Well, who would be better to ask than someone in Harry Potter's universe? Let's go find us a wizard!"

            I laughed; his excitement was contagious.

            "Okay," I agreed, "Why not? I guess there's no reason _not_ to think the wizarding community exists, after everything that's happened so far."

            "Exactly!"

            "Well, what's your plan? Why are we going to the airport?"

            "The plan is to get a flight to London and from there we can try and find our way to Diagon Alley."

            "All right. Oh, I'm getting excited!"

            "Hey, where'd you get that?"

            "Get what?"

            "That cloak."

            I glanced down at myself and realized I still had Legolas's cloak. The gown I'd been wearing was gone – I was back in my regular clothes – but I still had the cloak.

            "Legolas gave it to me," I said, running my fingers over the fabric.

            "Oh," said Justin.

            There was a short, awkward silence after that.

            "Are you okay?" he asked.

            "Yeah," I muttered, "I'm fine. Like you said, I should quit brooding so much."

            "I didn't mean it like that—"

            "No, it's okay," I insisted, "I'll probably never see him again, so I should just accept it."

            Justin didn't seem to know what to say to that. How could he? I didn't really expect him to respond. What I really needed was some time to myself, but that was impossible now. Besides, I was afraid Samara would find a way to attack me if I ever ended up alone.

            "Hey," said Justin, "Why don't you call the airport and see what's available? It'll be cheaper if we reserve tickets now, instead of just buying them at the counter."

            "Okay," I said, grateful for the chance to put my mind on something else.

            I ordered the tickets, and got off the phone just before we pulled into the airport parking lot. We had decided to fly stand-by because it was cheaper, and by some miracle still managed to get seats together. The minute we sat down we started talking in hushed voices about what we were going to do once we got to London.

            "Who exactly are you planning on asking for help?" I asked.

            "Well, everyone knows Hogwarts is really well protected, so it would be pretty much impossible to try to reach anyone there. . ."

            "We could send someone a message by owl post, if we ever get to Diagon Alley."

            "Yeah we could. Oh, but here's another problem: we don't have any wizard gold. We're gonna have to get our money exchanged somehow."

            "Oh, wonderful. I didn't even think of that. . ."

            "Yeah, neither did I, until just now."

            "Do you think we could get it done at Gringott's?"

            "I hope so. If there's any place on the planet that can exchange money, that's it."

            "Of course, this is all assuming we can find Diagon Alley in the first place, and to do that we need to get to the Leaky Cauldron first, and then we'd have to figure out how to open the gate and go inside, which we probably can't do without a wand."

            "You're so optimistic. . ."

            "Well, I'm just being a realist. We're on a plane for chrissake – we have to figure this out."

            "All right, lemme think. . . Okay, maybe we shouldn't go to Diagon Alley first. Maybe we could try and reach one of the kids. Harry lives at 4 Privet Drive, right? We should be able to figure out where that is. Or you know, Hermione's parents are Muggles – we could look them up."

            "Do you know their first names? I'm betting Granger is a fairly common name."

            "Well it's a plan anyway. The first thing we should do when we get to London is get something to eat though, because I'm starving."

            "Yeah, me too."

            We agreed to discuss our flimsy plan when we got off the plane, and in the meantime tried to rest as much as we could.


	10. Chapter Ten

Author's Note: Hello everyone! Sorry this bit took so long – I've just started another fic here, so this one's been competing for my attention with the new one. (It's called "The Jealous Suitor", and it's a Pirates of the Caribbean fic, if anyone's interested.) And now, here's chapter 10, including "the part with the dog" as Tamashii Hime put it. Enjoy! Please review!

Chapter Ten

            Our first stop after arriving in London was the exchange counter. We didn't change all of our money, just enough to buy some lunch and maybe a ride or two in one of the town cars. Then we bought ourselves a couple of deli sandwiches and went to eat in Trafalgar Square. I sat at the foot of one of those enormous stone lions and Justin leaned against the pillar beside me.

            "Have you ever been here before?" he asked, taking a huge bite out of his sandwich.

            "Just once," I said, "For a school trip. It wasn't much fun though – all we did was go on museum tours and stuff."

            "That doesn't sound too bad. I thought you liked museums."

            "Yeah, but I like to take my time. I don't like being rushed off to the next exhibit so fast, you know? It gets on my nerves."

            He laughed.

            "What?"

            "Nothing," he said, "Just the fact that you always have to do stuff your own way."

            "Well," I said thoughtfully, "If my way doesn't work this time, I'll try not to be so stubborn."

            He looked down at me gravely. It was probably the first time I'd ever admitted I would be willing to be wrong. Or course, this was a matter of life and death, but it was still a big step for me. Suddenly I felt something cold and damp nudge my hand. I glanced down and saw an enormous, shaggy black dog sniffing at my sandwich. I laughed.

            "Hey there!" I said sweetly, "You like turkey and provolone, huh?"

            I tore my sandwich in half and gave the part I hadn't bitten to the dog. He gobbled it up hungrily, laying down beside me and thumping his tail on the ground enthusiastically.

            "What, are you crazy?" asked Justin, "We're not gonna get any more food for a while, and just wasted half of it on a stray."

            "Don't be so mean!" I scolded him, scratching the dog behind the ears, "He's half-starved, look at him. He probably needs that sandwich more than I do."

            "You're such a sucker, Esther."

            "I know," I said, laughing as the dog grinned up at me; the sandwich was already gone.

            "Whatever," said Justin, crumpling up his sandwich wrapper, "Well, we need to talk about the plan."

            "Right," I agreed, "The plan. What is the plan?"

            "We don't have one yet – that's why we need to talk about it."

            "Okay, so let's talk about it."

            Justin suddenly burst out laughing. He'd just figured out I was teasing him; we did this kind of thing a lot, teasing each other just to see how long we could talk about a given subject without actually talking about it. The dog lay his head down on his paws and sighed contentedly. I scratched at his fuzzy head; I love dogs. Always have, always will. And they seem to understand me for the most part, so I've never met a dog I didn't like.

            "All right, all right," I said, "I'm done. What do we need to do first?"

            "I think we should try to find Hermione first."

            "How, by looking her up? I thought we'd already decided that wouldn't work."

            "It might work, it'll just take a long time."

            "What about Harry? He'd be easier to find since we know where he lives."

            "I guess so. . . Where is Privet Drive, exactly?"

            Justin glanced down at the dog nervously. I followed his gaze; the dog had gone rigid. Its ears were perked up attentively and its eyes were fixed on me and Justin. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn it was scowling at us.

            "What's the matter, boy?" I asked, wondering if it might be rabid.

            "Um, Esther?" said Justin, "Let's go somewhere else. You're finished now, right?"

            I crumpled up the last bite of my sandwich inside the wrapper and nodded, then stood up and followed Justin around to one of the small streets across the Square. We kept talking about our "plan," but we didn't make any more progress. Suddenly I noticed that the black dog was following us. I turned to look at him and he perked up his ears and wagged his tail at me.

            "Looks like you made a friend, Esther," said Justin, laughing.

            The dog barked once at us, then turned and trotted off down an alleyway. When we didn't follow him, the dog reemerged from the alley and looked back at us inquisitively. I glanced over at Justin; he just shrugged, so we turned to follow the dog into the alley. The dog wagged his tail excitedly as we approached, then turned and disappeared down the alley. We followed, but when we turned the corner the dog was nowhere to be seen.

            "Weird. . ." muttered Justin, "Where'd he go?"

            Suddenly a large shaped rushed forward out of the darkness and forced me and Justin back against a brick wall. A saw the glint of dark eyes and a mass of dirty black hair, and then I glanced down and noticed a strange, stick-like object pointing straight at my throat: a wand. My mouth dropped open when I realized what was happening.

            "S-Sirius Black?" I gasped.

            "What do you want with Harry Potter?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice.

            I swallowed hard; I was both excited and terrified. Here Justin and I had been trying to think of a way to get in touch with the wizarding world, and now that we had succeeded, our only contact was threatening us at wand-point.

            "Nothing," I said unconvincingly, "I mean, it's not that we want anything with Harry necessarily, but we need help."

            "What about Hermione? What do you want with her?"

            "I'm sorry, I was trying to think of someone who could help us," I said desperately, "She knows so much about the wizarding world, and we don't."

            "What is it you want?"

            "Look," said Justin, "We're not trying to hurt anybody, but there's this dead girl that's been following us around and we don't know how to get rid of her."

            "What?" asked Sirius.

            I shut my eyes and sighed hopelessly; this was going to be difficult. All the sudden I felt a change in the air, and the dark alleyway reeled out of focus. I was in a stark white room, mostly empty, and the stale air was tense with foreboding. In the middle of the room was a single table; Becca sat at one end, her dark hair disheveled and her eyes bloodshot, and Rachel sat at the other. I was in an asylum, the institution where Becca had been taken to be treated for severe trauma and paranoia. Rachel had come to question her. I moved closer to Becca's side of the table. I saw Rachel's lips moving, but I couldn't hear her at first. In the background I heard voices barely louder than a whisper from the world I'd just left.

            "No, don't touch her," Justin was saying, "I think she's having a vision."

            "How did she die?" asked Rachel, her voice finally coming through clearly.

            Becca was silent. As I moved closer I could feel strange quiverings in the air, and at first I didn't know what to make of them. The first was a rapid fluttering, like a tiny bird beating its wings frantically. The second was subtler, more difficult to sense: it was like a slow poison leaking out and spreading through the room, but it was also reluctant, as if it was trying to keep itself at bay. I have no idea how I knew all this; I could feel it somehow. The rapid fluttering got stronger the closer I moved to Becca, but the dull, poisonous feeling increased steadily as time wore on. Becca still hadn't said a word.

            "Becca?" asked Rachel, "What happened?"

            I felt a sudden animosity towards Rachel for asking the poor girl to relive that horrible night. She was only doing her job – Katie had been her niece after all – but she didn't understand just how deeply the other girl's death had affected Becca. This wasn't fair. On the other hand, Rachel was getting desperate; she'd seen the tape herself at this point, and she was trying to solve the mystery in order to save her own life. She had no choice.

            "It's all right, Becca," I told her, "She's only trying to help."

            The fluttering slowed to a steady, rhythmic thumping, and in a flash I understood: it was Becca's fear, rattling inside her like a caged bird. She must have either recognized my presence or something else had told her it was okay now. She relaxed, and raised her sleepless eyes to meet Rachel's. Rachel said something, a comforting word of some sort, and reached across the table to take Becca's hand. The air thickened at her touch and then an almost audible rumble passed through the room. The slow, poisonous feeling seeped away and was replaced by a sharp, pained ringing. I didn't understand what was happening, but something was different now. There was something inexplicably familiar about Rachel's aura right then, but not familiar to me. I can't explain it – there was something in her presence that I knew had been around before, but it was nothing I had ever experienced. Becca silently turned Rachel's hand over so that it lay palm-up on the table, then she folded the thumb inside the palm and straightened the four remaining fingers. I didn't hear her voice when she spoke, but I could read her words unmistakably: _Four days._

Rachel's eyes widened and the strange ringing increased to an almost deafening roar. And then I understood the second feeling: it was Rachel's fear, but it was different because she was trying to control it. The seeping poison was her doubt and anxiety slowing taking hold of her no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. But something had passed between the two women when they'd touched, and now Rachel's fear was reeling out unchecked. I tried to think of something to do that would calm her, but I felt myself drifting back to my own world. I felt pleasantly lightheaded for an instant, the same as I had before, but then an all too familiar presence surged out of the darkness of the alleyway. I screamed and shrank back against the cold brick wall, and I felt her glide past me. Cautiously I opened my eyes. I was breathing hard, and Justin and Sirius were both looking at me with confused apprehension. She was gone. I stood back up shakily.

            "Did you see her?" I asked Sirius.

            "Who?" he asked, searching my gaze suspiciously.

            "Samara! She was here, she must have known I saw Becca again."

            Justin shook his head; he hadn't seen anything. But Sirius was watching me with a strange, calculating expression.

            "Samara Morgan?" he asked in a low voice.

            "You know her?" I asked incredulously.

            "I know the name," he replied, slipping his wand back inside his robes, "That girl's been giving the Ministry a headache for decades. I don't know what they found out, but I know they gave up the case about twelve years ago – they seemed to think it wasn't important because she only attacks Muggles."

            "What are you talking about?"

            "No, I can't explain here; it's too much. Listen, if she really is following you I know one person in the Ministry that could help you – he's the only one there that didn't want to give up the case."

            "Can you take us there?"

            "To the Ministry of Magic Headquarters? Hardly. But I can help you get in touch with the man you need. This way."

            With that, he seemed to double over and shrink rapidly; he transformed back into the black dog and trotted out of the alley. I glanced over at Justin, who merely shrugged inconclusively, and then we followed the dog down the dingy streets of London.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Author's Note: Hi guys! I know it's been awhile – sorry about that – but here's the next chapter. This is where we finally get into the Harry Potter world! Hope you like it! Oh, one more thing: I have a small mailing list for readers if you want to be informed by email when I make these updates. If you want to be added to the list, just let me know!

            Sirius – or Snuffles as we were supposed to call him – led us past countless narrow alleys, cobblestone streets and old houses before we reached our destination. He stopped suddenly just in front of a plain-looking building with a blank sign hung over the doorway.

            "This can't be right," I said, "There's nothing here. Are you sure this is the right place?"

            "Esther, look!" said Justin, pointing at the sign.

            I looked up, and the sign that just moments ago had been completely black now read "The Leaky Cauldron."

            "Wow," I murmured, "Thanks!"

            Sirius wagged his tail, and took us inside. It was dark inside, but filled with warmth. I saw witches and wizards dressed in colorful robes, sipping at huge mugs and chattering pleasantly amongst themselves. A few of them turned to look when we came in, but for the most part they took no notice of us.

            "Ah, welcome!" said the man behind the bar cheerfully, "What can I get for you today? We have fire-whiskey on special this week – half price!"

            "No thanks," said Justin, "We're just passing through."

            "Right then," said the man, nodding, "Come back soon!"

            We followed Sirius out to the back, where he transformed again.

            "I'm a dead man if anyone sees me, so I'll have to make this quick," he said hurriedly, "Go to the post office and send an owl to Arthur Weasley. He'll know what to do about Samara."

            Sirius whipped out his wand and tapped several bricks on the back wall.

            "Good luck," he said, then transformed back into the dog and went back inside as the gateway opened.

            Justin and I walked wide-eyed into Diagon Alley, taking in all the strange wizarding shops and magical things for sale along the cobblestone path that ending in the gigantic, marble building that was Gringott's Bank. We just stood and stared for several moments, then Justin turned to me.

            "Give me your money," he said.

            "What?"

            "I'm gonna go in Gringott's and see if I can exchange it."

            "Oh, okay. I think I'll just look around for a while. I'll find out how much it'd cost to send an owl from here."

            "He did say 'Arthur Weasley' didn't he?"

            "Yeah. I'm not surprised though – he supposed to be crazy about Muggles, so it sort of makes sense that he'd want to take up this case again."

            "I wonder what they found out before. I mean, if they know anything about Samara that we don't."

            "Are you kidding? We don't know that much about her to begin with. Apart from the fact that she's a creepy dead girl who lives in a haunted video tape that kills people."

            "She can't kill you – we know that."

            "I'm not so sure. We don't really know if that's what she was trying to do."

            "Well, you've never seen the tape. That's supposed to be the only thing that would let her kill you, right?"

            "Oh, just go to Gringott's already! We don't know as much as we should, that's all I'm saying. I'm going into the post office, then Flourish and Blott's to find some parchment or something."

            "Fine, fine. See you later."

            Justin headed toward the oddly lopsided building at the end of the alley and I scoured the shops until I found the post office. It wasn't difficult – the entryway was lined with dozens of owls of different breeds, marked for different uses. I made my way inside and studied my options: I wanted one that said "urgent" so we could get our message to Arthur Weasley as soon as possible. I approached the desk at the back of the room.

            "Excuse me?" I asked timidly.

            The wizard behind the desk leaned over and smiled at me warmly.

            "How can I help you, Miss?" he asked graciously.

            "Thank you," I said, "I need to send an owl to the Ministry of Magic, to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. How much would that cost me?"

            "Ah yes, let's see. . . It depends how quickly you need to send the message. Is it urgent?"

            "Yes, very."

            "And do you have anyone in particular at the Ministry you're trying to reach?"

            "Oh, um. . . Arthur Weasley."

            "Very well. Come this way."

            He came out from behind the desk and led me over to a handsome, tawny owl perched near the window.

            "This is Belliwig – she's our fastest carrier for personal messages. She can't carry very heavy loads though."

            "That's all right – it's just a letter. How much?"

            "Ten sickles, so long as it's only a letter."

            "Okay. Thanks!"

            I turned to leave, but I heard the man's voice behind me.

            "Will you not be needing her after all?" he asked, sounding somewhat disappointed.

            "Oh, I will," I said, turning back to face him, "Sorry, but I don't have any money right now. My friend has just gone into Gringott's – I'll be back. Can you keep Belliwig here for me?"

            "Gladly, but I'll need to take down your name."

            He took out a quill and a small piece of parchment.

            "Oh," I said, "It's Esther. Golding."

            The man looked up at me strangely.

            "Is something wrong?" I asked nervously.

            "Oh no," he said, turning back to his desk, "But I believe I have a letter here for you. Esther Golding, is it?"

            "Yes," I said, baffled.

            He produced a sealed letter with my name on it; I took it and turned it over. The Hogwarts seal was stamped on the back.

            "Thank you," I said, trying not to convey my surprise, "Do I need to pay you for this?"

            "Oh no, of course not! It's yours by right, Miss Golding."

            "Thanks then. Good bye."

            "Good afternoon!" he called after me as I left.

            I looked down at the letter curiously. There was only one person in the wizarding world I could think of that could possibly know I was here, and that was Sirius. But he wouldn't be writing from Hogwarts, and not so soon after he'd left us. Who could it be from?

            _Only one way to find out, I told myself sternly._

            So I went into Flourish and Blott's bookshop, because Justin would be expecting me to be there, sat down and opened the letter. It read:

_Dear Miss Golding,_

_            I have received information that you and your companion have successfully penetrated our world. Well done! However, you must now use extreme caution to keep your peculiar hitchhiker at bay. Arthur Weasley has been informed of your situation, and would be delighted to assist you in any way he can. I have arranged for a temporary portkey to take you and the boy to the closest corresponding location to the Burrow; Mr. Weasley will be waiting for you there. Before you depart, I strongly recommend that you get yourself a wand for your own protection. Good luck!_

            It was signed "Albus Dumbledore." My mouth dropped open and I read through the letter another time; there was no mistake. I thought for a moment and decided it made sense; it was no secret (not to me, anyway) that Dumbledore kept in close correspondence with Sirius, and he was always quick. All the wizards seemed quick in keeping up with the comings and goings of non-magic folk, which was what Justin and I were, so in a strange, fantastical sort of way it made sense. There were instructions at the bottom of how to get to the portkey. The "peculiar hitchhiker" he'd mentioned could only be Samara; and Arthur Weasley was going to help me get rid of her. I couldn't wait to tell Justin!

            In the meantime I wandered through the bookshop, looking for a roll or two of parchment I could use. I realize now that sending a letter at this time would be silly; Mr. Weasley already knew we were coming, so I didn't need to tell him anything really. I should have gone straight to Ollivander's to get that wand. But I kept looking anyway, just to take the edge off the rush of excitement I was now feeling. As I looked, I suddenly noticed a small figure studying an enormous tome in a cozy-looking corner of the shop. I looked closer and saw a mass of bushy hair haloing the figure's face.

            "Hermione?" I called, wondering half a second too late how I was going to explain how I knew her.

            She looked up and her little brown eyes found mine.

            "Yes?" she asked, "Do I know you?"

            "No," I said, moving towards her, "You are Hermione Granger, aren't you?"

            "Yes. . . You haven't been reading the _Daily Prophet_, have you?"

            "What?"

            It took me a moment to realize what she meant, then I remembered all the scathing articles that Rita Skeeter had written at Hermione's expense. It must have been some time after Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts.

            "Oh, no," I said with a laugh, "Don't worry, I never believe a word that Skeeter woman writes."

            Hermione smiled, then put down her book and held her hand out to shake mine.

            "What a relief!" she said, "I thought you were one of those hate mail writers for a moment!"

            "Of course not – I'm Esther Golding."

            "Nice to meet you."

            We both sat down in Hermione's corner and began to talk. She told me that school had just let out for the summer (and she had just finished her fourth year, as I'd guessed) and she had come into the shop to get some books early and get a head start on her summer reading. That didn't surprise me one bit, but I tried not to let on just how much I already knew about her; that would be just plain awkward. She mentioned Ron, and for the sake of conversation I told her I had a meeting scheduled with Mr. Weasley, including the part about going out to the Burrow.

            "That's odd," said Hermione, "I didn't think he scheduled meetings for the Ministry in his own house. You'd think he would have you meet him in his office."

            "I didn't think of that. That is strange. . ."

            "Well, what's the meeting about, if it's all right to ask?"

            "It's difficult to explain: You see, I have this . . . well, I guess she's like a ghost, but not exactly, and she's been following me around for a while and I don't know how to get rid of her."

            "That sounds like a haunting. I wonder why Mr. Weasley's handling it? He works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office – hauntings are hardly his department."

            "Hm, I bet it's the tape. . ."

            "Sorry?"

            "Oh, nothing. I'm sure I'll get this figured out eventually, I'm just nervous. She scares me sometimes."

            "I'm sure."

            Then Justin came in. I introduced him to Hermione and showed him my letter. He was just as astounded by it as I was, but just as grateful for the help. Justin gave me back my money, this time in wizard gold, and then Hermione led us to Ollivander's wand shop. She told us good-bye at the door, saying she might see us again if we stayed at the Burrow long enough, and headed back down the cobblestone path. Mr. Ollivander was standing just behind a tall row of boxes to the right of the cashier's desk. He stepped out to greet us as we entered, his tiny sharp eyes taking us in astutely.

            "Hello," I said politely, "Could you help me pick out a wand? I've . . . lost my old one."

            "Ah, of course," he said cordially, "What's your name, my dear?"

            "Esther Golding."

            "Indeed."

            He moved back between the shelves and pulled out a slender grey box. He opened the box and held the wand out to me, handle-first.

            "Sturdy oak," he said, "Quite inflexible, eight and a half inches, core of unicorn tail-hair. Try that."

            I took the wand and raised it to give it a test wave, but suddenly I heard a strange, whispery voice enter my consciousness. It was Samara.

            _That's not it, she was saying, although I couldn't make out distinct words, __In_ the very back, the red one. It's the oldest one he's got.__

            I lowered the wand and realized my hand was shaking. What was she trying to do? She couldn't be helping me, could she?

            "Is something wrong, dear?" asked Mr. Ollivander.

            "Um, no," I said uncertainly, "I don't think this is it."

            I set the wand back in its box and looked towards the back of the shop. Without realizing it I began walking towards the back wall where an extremely dusty box lay crookedly near the bottom of the shelf.

            "Ah," said Ollivander, sweeping past, "Perhaps you are the one intended for this old wand."

            He pulled the dusty box out of the shelf and opened it gingerly; it was cracked and peeling in several places. He removed the dark red wand and held it out to me respectfully, almost as if it were some sacred artifact.

            "Wonderfully bendy redwood," he said, "Seven inches, dragon heartstring."

            I took the wand from him curiously.

            "This wand has been in my possession for many, many generations," he said, "After it continued to lie here, I began to think I might never sell it. I realized after some time that it must be either defective – which is impossible – or intended for a particularly exceptional witch or wizard. Perhaps that individual is you."

            I felt extremely awkward, having no idea how to wield a wand, but I gave it a short wave anyway. Immediately I felt a peculiar, tingling sensation pass through me, something like an electric current but very pleasant.

            "Wow," Justin murmured.

            The wand was glowing faintly.

            "Extraordinary," said Mr. Ollivander, and he motioned for us to come back to the cashier's desk.

            I paid him for the wand and then we were on our way. I tried to say a silent "thank you" to Samara, but she was gone.

            "Well, that was weird," said Justin.

            "No kidding," I agreed, "I wonder how she knew. . ."

            "What was that? Who knew what?"

            "Samara. I heard her voice inside my head; she told me this was the wand I was supposed to have."

            "And you listened to her?"

            "Well, she was right. Besides, the wand chooses the wizard, remember? I don't think I really had a choice."

            "Yeah, but still. I wonder what he meant by all that. Are you supposed to do something special with it?"

            "I guess so. . . Right now I just wanna focus on getting to the Burrow."

            "Right. First let's send an owl back to Dumbledore."

            "What for? I'm sure he knows we got the letter okay."

            "Yeah, but Gandalf told us to give the headmaster his regards. So let's send him an owl."

            I laughed.

            "Okay."

            So we sent an owl to Dumbledore and made our way back through the gateway to London. Our portkey was going to be an old stick of gum just behind a phone booth, and we were supposed to be there at 7:14 AM exactly the next morning. So we found the phone booth, found a hotel nearby where we could stay for the night, and then went out to sightsee and get some dinner. Luckily Justin had saved some of our old money so we could still pay our way in the Muggle world and no one would get too suspicious. We didn't have much time, so our sightseeing was pretty limited. We saw a wax museum and had dinner in the original Hard Rock Café, but that was pretty much it. After that there was nothing to do but wait for morning.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Author's Note: So sorry for the delay – I've been a bit preoccupied lately. I've had half of this done for a while, but I thought it was too short to post so I held it off until I managed to beef it up a little bit. This chapter should either answer some questions for y'all or just confuse you even more. Either way, I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for sticking with me – I'm as anxious for the next bit as you guys. Please, let me know what you think!

-- Arwen Tinuviel

            That night I dreamed. I was having another vision, but something told me that I was seeing the present, not the past. Except it _was_ the past; I'd become a part of it somehow, and it no longer felt like such a long time ago for me. I saw a white cliff with great boulders scattered around the bottom, and just at the cliff base was a carved opening, like a gigantic door. Then I saw small, dark figures crouched among the rocks, barely moving. I moved closer and I recognized the figures as my friends from Rivendell: all the Hobbits, and Aragorn and Legolas of course. But something was wrong; some of them were crying. I noticed that Legolas was standing somewhat apart from the others, so I went to him to see if I could find out what had happened. When I reached him it hit me: I had seen this before. They had just left Moria, and Gandalf was nowhere to be seen. Legolas' eyes were downcast, and his fine, Elven features were contorted with confusion and grief. He raised his deep, sorrow-filled eyes to mine, and I realized with a jolt that he could see me. That had never happened before.

            "We've lost Gandalf," he said, his voice quiet but remarkably clear, "He fell into the depths of Moria."

            "I know," I said.

            "We should never have come this way," he said sadly.

            He looked away; he didn't cry like the others; his despair was so complete that not even tears could express it. But what could I say to him? I knew that Gandalf would come back to them eventually, but I couldn't tell him that. It wasn't my place to tell him – it wasn't my right. It never occurred to me to wonder why he seemed so unshaken by my presence there; I guess he was just so unprepared for what had just happened that my appearing there was a minor phenomenon.

            "What are you thinking, Esther?" he asked suddenly.

            I raised my eyes to meet his; he was looking straight in my eyes, searching my consciousness again, the way he'd done so many times when he'd been so close to my side. I felt a lump rise in my throat.

            "I thought I'd never see you again," I whispered.

            He gaze softened, and I knew he was thinking the same thing. I raised a hand to touch his face, but then I heard Aragorn's voice.

            "Legolas!" he called, "Get them up."

            Painfully, Legolas turned away from me and went to help the others. Bitter tears welled up in my eyes, and I heard Boromir's protests in the background as the scene shifted. Suddenly I was looking down into a clear, shallow pool of water. I watched, and in the depths of the pool I saw pieces of the visions I'd had before, scenes from my own childhood, and faces of people I'd never met. I couldn't understand what was happening, but suddenly I saw a dark well, and a pale pair of hands close over the top rim as someone pulled himself – or herself – up from the bottom. I tore my eyes away, and the rest of my setting became clear to me: I had been looking down into a shallow basin in a beautiful clearing in a dense wood. Just behind the basin, standing in front a great tree and holding a silver chalice, was an incredibly tall, regal-looking woman dressed all in white. She had long, long hair that fell like a pale waterfall down her shoulders, and her eyes held so much depth that when I looked in them I felt like I could see for miles and miles. It was Galadriel.

            "Do you know how evil first came into the world?" she asked, and her voice was like an enormous bell: deep, resonating and almost frighteningly powerful.

            "No," I answered.

            "When the kingdom of Arda was first created, there came many of the Ainur, the Holy Ones, to protect and nurture it. They are now called the Valar."

            I remembered the name Arda from my reading of _The Silmarillion: that was the Elven name for the Earth. And I knew that the Valar were the gods that watched over Middle Earth from the Undying Lands in the west. Galadriel continued._

            "For many long years they prepared the land for the coming of Elves and Men, but one among them, who was once called Melkor, sought to unmake the creation of Ilúvatar and turn Arda to his own will."

            "Morgoth," I murmured, "That's what you call him now."

            Galadriel nodded.

            "But he's gone now, isn't he?" I asked uncertainly, "I thought the Valar banished him from Middle Earth in the Second Age."

            "Morgoth himself is no longer among us," said Galadriel, "That is true. But while he remained in Middle Earth, he summoned to him strange creatures and spirits of darkness to aid him in his foul work. And long after the destruction of Morgoth, and even after the destruction of his servant, Sauron, the creatures he had turned to his will lingered on."

            "You mean the orcs and goblins?"

            "Among others. There were some who defied Morgoth, and turned to their own evil purposes without his knowledge. And he became powerless to stop them."

            "Shelob was one of those, I think. The giant spider."

            "She was, but Shelob is but the last daughter of the great Ungoliant, who destroyed the trees of Valinor and sentenced us all to darkness for a great many years. She became selfish and untamable, and even Morgoth feared her after a time."

            Slowly it dawned on me just what Galadriel was trying to tell me. I felt my pulse quicken.

            "Samara," I said finally, "She was one of his servants too."

            Galadriel said nothing for a while, but set down the silver chalice and came towards me, bending her head down to look me straight in the eyes.

            "It sometimes happens," she said, "That a spirit will be taken into a world in which it does not belong. There are many other worlds besides this one, and some boundaries have been broken that should never have been crossed."

            "She never should have been born. . . But, how could she have existed in this world before? I mean, how did you know who she was? She was just a little girl when she died; she couldn't have lived that long."

            Galadriel straightened slowly and went to the basin in the middle of the clearing, which I realized at this point was Galadriel's Mirror. She bent over the basin and looked down into it for several moments, then spoke again.

            "If you learn nothing else from this meeting, remember this one thing: no living creature is wholly evil. Everything and everyone brought into being by Ilúvatar began pure and good, even Melkor himself. It is only through lies and misunderstandings that evil is allowed to exist."

            "What are you saying? Rachel was right?"

            "Think not about the oversights of others. You have much to learn, Eledhwen, and learn it you will, but time will always be against you. However, fear not, for your heart will lead you rightly if you allow yourself to hear it."

            She smiled down at me as my vision began to fade. Just as I started coming out of the dream I heard her voice once more, softer than a whisper: "Namárië." And then my eyes opened. I lay awake in thoughtful confusion for a while, then my bedside phone rang, jarring me into full consciousness. I cringed, then rolled over and picked up the handset.

            "What?" I mumbled irritably.

            "Morning, Esther!" said Justin, "You awake yet?"

            "I am now."

            "Good, come on downstairs. We need to eat and then get to that phone booth."

            "Huh?"

            "The portkey, remember? At 7:14."

            "Oh yeah. Right."

            "Coming?"

            "Yeah, yeah. I'll be right down."

            I got dressed, packed, and went downstairs to meet Justin. I went through the motions in a fog; I still couldn't shake the dream from my head. That's when I first realized I would never be able to sleep again, not the way I used to. It was a jarring discovery; it wasn't exactly unhappy, because I still felt rested, but all the sudden I felt as if an impossibly heavy load had been packed onto my shoulders. I would be open to these visions all the time now, and I would never truly sleep again. I didn't say anything to Justin then; I wanted to focus on getting to the portkey so we could finish what we needed to do, even though we weren't sure what that was yet.

            We went outside to the bright red phone booth after breakfast. Justin checked his watch.

            "We've got two minutes," he said, crouching down next to the stick of gum on the ground.

            "What do we do?" I asked, kneeling down next to him, "Just touch it?"

            "Yeah, I think so," said Justin, "I guess all our stuff will just come with us. Right?"

            "As long as we're holding onto it. I wonder it feels like. . ."

            "I don't think it'll hurt, if that's what you're worried about."

            "No, I'm just curious. I'm also not really awake yet, and I don't wanna fall too hard when we get to the other side."

            I gripped the straps of my backpack a little tighter, just to make sure it wouldn't fall off during the trip. Then Justin's watch beeped, and he glanced up at me expectantly.

            "Okay," he said, "Here we go."

            We both reached out and put a finger on the stick of gum. First nothing happened, and I was just starting to think something had gone wrong when I felt myself jerked forward. It felt like someone had tied an invisible piece of twine to my ribcage and given a hard yank at the least expected moment. It was nauseatingly disorienting, but it was short. I felt like I had turned inside-out for a second, and then suddenly I was crash-landing on a chilly hillside somewhere outside the city. I felt someone pulling me back to my feet.

            "Oh dear, rough landing," said a cheerful voice to my left, "Everyone all right?"

            I looked up, and I saw a man in a bright purple robe and a matching hat helping Justin to his feet. A bit of red hair tucked out from under the hat, and he wore a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

            "Mr. Weasley?" I asked as it finally dawned on me who I was looking at.

            "At your service," he said, tipping his pointed hat politely.

            "It's such an honor to meet you," I gushed, shaking his hand heartily.

            He laughed and returned the gesture, then started leading Justin and me down the hill.

            "Is it indeed?" he asked, "I'm only too delighted to be interrogating the pair of you – Muggles! In the flesh! You are Muggles, aren't you?"

            Justin and I shared a quick, covert glance, struggling not to burst into giggles at his enthusiasm.

            "To tell you the truth," I answered as honestly as I could, "I'm not really sure anymore. I mean, I thought I was one, but –"

            "Oh, I'm a Muggle for sure," Justin interjected, seeing Mr. Weasley's puzzled expression, "It's her we're not so sure about. You know, just because of all the stuff that's happened lately. I mean. . . Well, maybe you'd better explain it," he said to me.

            "All in good time," said Mr. Weasley, "Let's get you two settled first. I'm sure this has been a trying ordeal for you. Imagine, a _nenshavite_ coming back after all these years. . ."

            I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but I was too anxious to reach the foot of the hill at the moment. Besides, I was sure we'd find out later.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Author's Note: So, so, so sorry for the incredibly long delay. There a million different reasons for it – getting involved in other stories, schoolwork, the end-of-semester crunch – but in any case, I'm back now. This will hopefully explain some things for you, such as what a nenshavite is, and why they're related to Samara and everything. As for why the Elves and wizards know Esther, I'll get more into that later. (It might be a while, hehe, but I will get to it. I promise!) Jessica: Yes, there will be more LOTR stuff, but most of my setting will be in either Harry Potter's world or the world of _The Ring from now on. But don't worry – Esther's dreams will keep going back to Arda (as well as some weird fantasy worlds of my own making). Ok, so here is the next chapter!_

            We reached the Burrow in about twenty minutes. I was surprised at the briefness of the trip – it had seemed much longer when it was described in the book. But then I remembered we were going downhill instead of up; it made a little more sense then. The Burrow was wonderful of course: it stood a little ways off from a dirt road, an enormous, towering, nonsensical cottage that was both mind-boggling to look at and somehow warmly familiar. It had an aura of "home" about it. Mrs. Weasley was waiting for us when we came in: she ushered Justin and me to the kitchen table, making us lay down our bags, and treated us to toast, thick slices of ham, and bowl after bowl of steaming porridge. We tried to tell her not to trouble herself, but she insisted it was no trouble. (I personally didn't want to protest too much; I was starving.)

            "Arthur's thrilled to be taking up this case again," she told us, spooning another helping of porridge into my bowl, "He was right put out when they called it off – he thought it was unwise to leave it hanging the way they did. And right he was – look at the mess you poor dears have gotten into! He had to take all his records back here to keep them from being thrown out afterwards – that's why he asked you two here instead of to his office, as it were."

            "Oh yeah, I was wondering about that," said Justin, "I didn't think he usually had meetings at his house like this."

            "It's so nice of you to go to all this trouble for us," I added, "I hope we're not intruding or anything."

            "Not at all, dear!"

            She settled herself into the chair at the foot of the table with a mug of coffee.

            "Mrs. Weasley?" I asked tentatively, "Do you know anything about this case?"

            "Very little," she confessed, "But I do believe it involved a nenshavite that only seemed to attack Muggles. That's why Arthur was so keen to get it solved."

            "What exactly is a nenshavite?"

            "A demon of some sort, I imagine. They're quite scarce, thankfully, but of course that means there isn't a great deal known about them. They only turn up every hundred years or so; at least that's my understanding of it. But they can be quite dangerous."

            Just then Arthur came into the kitchen with an armful of folders and old papers and sat himself at the head of the table between Justin and me.

            "Here we are," he said, setting the papers down in front of him, "Forgive me for being so anxious; if you're still weary, then by all means we can look at these later. It's just such an unexpected treat to be working on this case again! I always felt rather ill at ease when they decided to drop it. Here now," he said, picking out a glossy photograph and setting it in front of me.

            "Is that the girl?" he asked.

            I looked at the picture he'd set in front of me; there she was, dressed in a white nightgown, seated on a small chair in the center of what looked like a white hospital room. Her dark hair hung down past her knees, partly covering her face; her eyes were downcast. There was a label at the bottom of the print that bore her name: Samara Morgan. I felt a strange chill go up my spine looking at that picture; it made the whole story more real somehow. Suddenly, the girl in the picture flicked her eyes up at me. I jumped and let out a little gasp.

            "Something wrong, dear?" asked Mr. Weasley.

            I heard Justin laughing at me.

            "The pictures are _supposed_ to move, Esther," he said patronizingly.

            "I know that!"

            I felt a blush creep into my cheeks when I realized what had happened; I should have remembered that. How could I have forgotten? Of course the pictures moved – that was just how it worked here.

            "It's okay," I told Mr. Weasley, handing the photo back to him, "Yes, that's her."

            "Samara Morgan," he said, looking at the picture himself, "Yes, I thought so. This one was quite a handful, if I recall. So much so that the Ministry eventually decided not to bother with her anymore. Ridiculous, letting a nenshavite go round at large like that. . . It's never been done before, not in any of the nenshavite cases I've heard of."

            "I'm sorry," I interrupted, "But what's a nenshavite?"

            "It's a demon," he answered, "A fire demon, I believe. I never did much research about demons myself, unfortunately, so I don't know very much about them, but I do know that they're distantly related to dementors."

            "Dementors?" asked Justin, "Really?"

            "Yes, I believe so," said Mr. Weasley, putting the picture back in a folder, "But they're much more dangerous – impossible to negotiate with. That's why they're usually taken care of quickly, but in this case," he pulled out a complicated-looking document, "The nenshavite – Samara, I mean – found a loophole to keep herself out of the Ministry's scope for quite some time."

            "How'd she do that?" I asked.

            "Well. . . Are you at all familiar with the story?"

            "Yes. I mean, I think so."

            "How much exactly do you know about Samara?"

            "I know that she . . . well, I know there's a videotape involved somehow. She made it, although I'm not sure how, but when someone watches it, seven days afterwards she comes and kills them. That's right, isn't it?"

            "Yes, partly. That videotape is what brought her to my department – the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. It's a brilliant strategy really – you see, all nenshavites use some sort of talisman to gain control over their victims. They put a spell on a seemingly commonplace object of some sort, and then whoever comes into contact with it will be drawn into the nenshavite's realm of power. In other words, they can find whoever's picked up the talisman and . . . well, kill them. It's usually not very difficult to discover if and when there has been a nenshavite attack – they have a very distinctive way of disposing of their victims – but with this one," he moved some papers aside to reveal a plain black videotape, "She chose to use this tape as her talisman."

            I swallowed hard when I saw the tape; I suppose I should have known I would see it up close eventually, but I hadn't been quite prepared for it. I steeled myself enough to ask Mr. Weasley another question.

            "How did that help her?" I asked.

            "Well," said Mr. Weasley, "Most wizards don't own a television set, so in using a commonplace object exclusive to the Muggle world, she kept herself out of our scope for quite some time. But there's something else as well: you see, usually a nenshavite kills its victims outright, but Samara used her powers a little differently. She gave her victims a loophole to save themselves: if they produced a copy of the tape, they would be spared. So, you can guess how this complicated the Ministry's job immensely, even after we discovered the case."

            "There are too many tapes out now," I guessed, "There's no way you could keep track of all of them."

            "Precisely."

            Mr. Weasley put the tape away again.

            "Which is, unfortunately, why the Ministry decided to let this case go," he continued, "You see, the only proven way to get rid of a nenshavite is to concentrate all of it's energies in one place, and then perform a ritual that will send it out of this dimension and into another, where it can't do any more damage, at least not to us. The problem is that to concentrate all of Samara's powers into one place, we would need all of her talismans – the tapes, in other words – and we have no idea how many there are in circulation. No doubt more are copied every week, so that just makes the entire situation more complicated."

            A heavy silence followed his explanation. I myself was more than a little overwhelmed by the whole thing; I had never really felt completely at ease talking about things like this, ghost stories or horrific events of some other description. Although I have to admit it was strangely comforting to hear Mr. Weasley talk about Samara so practically, as if she was some sort of pest or nuisance, rather than the murderous, frightening, demonic creature that I knew she was.

            "Have you watched the tape?" asked Justin suddenly.

            "Me?" asked Mr. Weasley, "Oh no, although heaven knows I've tried. I can't quite work out how to do it, you see. Here, let me show you."

            He rose from the table, gesturing for Justin to follow, and led him into a separate room. I looked over at Mrs. Weasley, a little uncertainly.

            "Is there anything I can do for you, dear?" she asked, smiling warmly.

            "Well. . ." I began, "I _would_ like to. . . I'm not sure how to put this, really. Do you mind if I have a look around?"

            "Not at all! Would you like a tour of the Burrow?"

            "Yes, I'd love one! If it's not too much trouble I mean."

            "Nonsense," she said, discarding the idea with a wave of her hand, "Here, come this way."

            It seemed like such a strange request, but I couldn't stand the idea of sitting still. All through our conversation I had been feeling inexplicably restless; this warm, bustling energy had been filling me up since the moment we'd set foot inside, as if it was radiating from the very foundations of the house. During our discussion the energy had been masked by the cool anxiety I always felt when I had to think about Samara, but now it came back full force. I can't explain it, but all the sudden I had this irrepressible urge to run into every single room in the house and then run back out again, and then circle the whole place and do the same thing over and over. I had never felt anything like it; it was irresistible. Mrs. Weasley led me through the entire downstairs area, then up to the bedrooms (giving me just a peek into each room) all the way up to the fifth floor. I could hear the crashing and stomping of the little ghoul that lived in the attic; it made me smile. That strange, warm feeling stayed with me throughout the tour. Well, except for once: there was one room we passed by without going in, and it seemed like a chill hung over the door. Mrs. Weasley said it was Percy's room.

            I met Justin back downstairs and then we left the Burrow to find another place to stay for the night. Mr. Weasley had arranged for us to stay over for a night or two at the Leaky Cauldron, so it was back to London for a while. Neither of us were keen on the idea of traveling by floo powder, so Mr. Weasley offered to drive us back. He helped us unload our things and take them up to our rooms, and we three decided to meet again sometime tomorrow to discuss what should be done about Samara. And then he left us. Justin and I went downstairs to try some butterbeer, and Justin started talking about our "plans" for the next few days. I wasn't really listening; my mind was wandering restlessly.

            "Hermione is gonna be there sometime later today," he said, "Probably around four or five – we should drop back by and say hi and thank her and stuff. Hey, maybe she knows something about nenshavites – she's probably read about them somewhere, especially if they're related to dementors. I bet she looked them up during their third year at Hogwarts, you know, when Harry was having all that—"

            "Do you think houses have auras?" I asked suddenly.

            "What?"

            "You know, like personalities and stuff."

            "Uh. . ."

            "Well, I was just thinking about it. The whole time we were in the Burrow, I felt this weird, sort of happy energy. I know it sounds really weird—"

            "Yeah, it does."

            "—but what if the house picks up on the energy of the people in it? I mean, everyone knows the Weasleys are probably the warmest, most loving family in the wizard world; what if all that positive energy actually seeped into walls of the house itself? And stayed there?"

            "Okay, now you're starting with the bogus sci-fi theories again."

            "I'm serious! I really felt something in there. I'm not sure what, but I know it was a good thing. I guess it's not really that important, but it was nice to have some positive vibes to tap into for a change. Usually these visions I'm having just creep me out and keep me awake at night."

            "So you think this is all related?"

            "How could it _not_ be? I've never felt anything like that before."

            "Whatever. So, you wanna go back later and see Hermione again?"

            "Sure. I should ask her if she knows anything about nenshavites. . . You know what? If they're related to dementors, I bet she looked them up during the third year, when Harry was having the Patronus lessons and stuff."

            Justin laughed.

            "What?" I asked innocently.

            "Nothing," he muttered, "That's a good idea. Let's do it."

            So we decided to back for the Burrow after lunch, using our leisure time to explore Diagon Alley more thoroughly than our first stop had allowed us to. I pulled out my wand and went down the alley, hunting for dark corners and then muttering "Lumos" and "Nox" just to watch it light up and then flicker out again. I tried to remember some other spells, but there wasn't much I could do without practice. I wanted to try and summon a Patronus, but I was too excited to concentrate – I can't even tell you how entertaining it is to play with a real magic wand for the first time ever. Justin and I sat down sometime later to look up a cab to take us back to the Burrow for a while.

            "I don't know about you," said Justin, "But I'd like to avoid the Knight Bus if at all possible."

            "No argument here," I said, flipping the through the pages of the directory I'd found in my room, "I think we can find something else pretty easily."

            "Oh, by the way," he said, "Did I tell you why that tape wouldn't work?"

            "What tape?"

            "Come on, Esther."

            "Oh, yeah. Why didn't it work?"

            "He doesn't have a VCR."

            I laughed. It wasn't surprising really; we both knew how easily Mr. Weasley could overlook details like that. Justin had told him the problem though, and Mr. Weasley was probably out right that moment looking for a VCR to hook up to his television. I didn't ask what was going to happen when he fixed it finally; frankly, I didn't want to know. And I didn't want to be there when it happened. But in any case, we found a cab, left most of our things in the rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, and headed back for the Burrow.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Author's Note: Hello again! Goodness, it's been almost two months now. . . Therefore, I'd like send out a HUGE thank you to all the readers who are still with me! It really means a lot – more than you think. The good news is I feel like I'm getting back into the swing of things now, so hopefully the updates won't be as incredibly spaced-out as before. This one is almost 3000 words worth, so I hope that will at least partially make up for the delay! As always, if anyone would like me to email them when I update, just let me know and I'll add you to my mailing list. (I am reworking the mailing list right now, so that last bit's pretty important.) There is very little action in this particular chapter unfortunately – more explanatory stuff – but I'll get on to more of the good stuff (including dream sequences in Middle Earth) later. On with the story!

            Hermione was already there when we arrived. She seemed pleased to see us, and took the liberty of introducing us to Ron, who was seated at the kitchen table when we came in. He was much taller than I'd expected him to be – tall and lanky, at that awkward stage some boys go into just after their growth spurt – but the red hair and freckles were all there, so that was all it took to convince me it was really him.

            "It's wonderful to meet you, finally," he said, "Dad's been talking about you two nonstop for the past two days."

            "Really?" I laughed.

            "Oh yeah! I'd never heard of a nenshavite before, but he's very excited about finding one, he says."

            "Oh, that reminds me," said Hermione, guiding me over to a couch in the living room, "I want to show you something."

            She sat down next to me and produced a huge book – an encyclopedia of some sort – and flipped through the pages to a spot she'd dog-eared sometime earlier.

            "When I heard it was a nenshavite that was after you," she said, "I had to look this up just to make sure. I've heard the name before, and eventually I remembered that it was during our third year at Hogwart's – do you remember, Ron?"

            "Of course I remember," said Ron, coming to sit at a nearby overstuffed chair, "That was when the Dementors were guarding the school."

            He shuddered visibly.

            "Exactly," said Hermione, "Well, I started reading up on dementors, just out of curiosity, and it mentioned nenshavites as being somehow related to them."

            "So you had to look up nenshavites as well, right?" said Ron, with just a hint of sarcasm.

            "Well, yes," said Hermione, ignoring his tone, "And this is what I found out."

            She found her place in the encyclopedia and began tracing the lines as she read aloud: 

            "_Nenshavite__: The Nenshavite, an ancient relative of the dementor, is a powerful fire demon of extraordinary power. Like the dementor, the Nenshavite feeds on negative human emotions, but it also has a particular taste for fear. Also like the dementor, the Nenshavite has the ability to extract a human soul from the body, but in this case the victim whose soul is taken is killed, not left with a half-life._

            The Nenshavite possesses many other, more distinctive powers, the most notable of which is the _nensha, or the ability to burn images onto any flat surface. It is generally believed that the __nensha is a form of communication, as many Nenshavites have used it to use leave cryptic messages, in some cases for the purpose of luring their prey. It is this ability that classifies the Nenshavite as a fire demon._

            Fortunately for witches and wizards everywhere, the Nenshavite is also extremely rare: it can only enter this dimension if it is provided with a human body to inhabit, and then only if it is summoned directly. However, should such an incarnation occur, all Nenshavites follow the same pattern: they inhabit one body from birth to death, leaving messages and clues for their victims, and become more powerful after they die. The body of a Nenshavite's prey is distinguished by its unusually rapid decay, and it is almost always surrounded by water. This is because all Nenshavites, after they are killed in human form, are left in water. There have been only seven Nenshavite incarnations in recorded history, the most recent being that of Samara Morgan, but all have followed this peculiar burial pattern: four were drowned, one was killed by a shark, one was strangled and then thrown down a well, and one died of natural causes and was buried at sea."

            "Samara is the one in well, I guess," said Justin.

            "It says 'see _Samara Morgan_' here," said Hermione, flipping through the pages once more, "I'm not sure how much you've heard already, but we might as well look it up."

            "How much do _you_ know about her?" I asked.

            "Not enough," she confessed sheepishly, "I've heard about that tape, but I've never seen it. I'd rather not, to tell you the truth."

            "Neither would I."

            "Why not?" asked Justin, "I mean, she's already after us anyway – what harm could it do?"

            "Well, you go ahead if you really want to," I said, "But don't expect me to join you."

            "Here it is," said Hermione, finding Samara's entry in the encyclopedia.

            She began to read aloud again:

"_Samara Morgan:_ Samara Morgan was born in October of 1970 to a small Muggle family located in the Northwest region of the United States. The Morgans, desperate to have a child, enlisted the help of a dark wizard from Southeast Asia to provide them with an alternate means of conception. Unbeknownst to the Morgans, this wizard summoned a Nenshavite which became incarnated in the form of the child, Samara. (The wizard responsible has, of course, been imprisoned at Azkaban.)

            As is the case with all Nenshavites, Samara's powers grew as she got older, until at last her family and neighbors began to realize that she was truly dangerous. She was murdered by her mother, Anna Morgan, sometime in the early 1980s, and buried in a well. But before she died, Samara made a pivotal discovery: she could use the nensha – the most important of the Nenshavite's powers – to burn images onto not only walls and wooden tables, but onto film as well. In her wake she left a slew of puzzling x-rays, photographs and – her choice of bait for her victims – a Muggle recording device called a 'videotape.'

            "There's more here about the case," Hermione continued, "But it's mostly just details about the tape."

            "Stuff we've heard before, in other words," said Justin.

            "Probably."

            "That's strange," I said, "I thought that the Morgans had adopted Samara."

            "Yeah, me too," said Justin, "That's what they told everyone, anyway. Still, it makes perfect sense: Gandalf even called her a 'wielder of the _nensha_,' remember?"

            "Gandalf?" asked Ron, sitting suddenly upright.

            "You've spoken with Gandalf the Gray?" asked Hermione incredulously.

            My face flushed; I glared across the room at Justin. He'd said too much.

            "Well, is it true?" asked Hermione.

            "Yes," I said reluctantly, "It's hard to explain – it's kind of a long story."

            Justin and I then took turns explaining what had happened to us in Middle Earth. Ron and Hermione listened with rapt attention, although I couldn't tell whether they believed us or not. Looking back on it, I guess it was silly of me to be so much on my guard for a pair of wizards – they were used to dealing with the strange and unusual. I didn't have to hide anything from them. I did choose to leave out the part about my relationship with Legolas; they were still strangers, after all.

            "Incredible!" said Hermione at the end of our tale, "You just popped up outside your apartment afterwards, just like that?"

            "Yeah," I said, "I don't know how I did it – it just happened."

            "You haven't got a Time Turner, have you?" asked Ron.

            "Don't be silly," said Hermione, "You can't go back that far with a Time Turner. This was thousands and thousands of years ago – it would have to be very advanced magic."

            "I don't have one anyway," I said, "Like I said, we were just running and all the sudden we were in Mirkwood."

            "The weirdest part is that she followed us back there," said Justin, "It's Esther she's after – that's why we're here, I guess. We can't figure out why."

            "Because you've never seen the tape," said Ron.

            "Right."

            Just then Mr. Weasley entered with a sizable cardboard box under his arm.

            "Ah, welcome back!" he said cheerily, seeing Justin and me, "I've just picked this up at a Muggle ekeltronic store in town."

            He set the box down and set about opening it up. Justin went over to help him lift the VCR out after he'd unwrapped it.

            "It's not quite brand new," Mr. Weasley said apologetically, "But I'm sure it will work well enough for our purposes. Now, to plug it all in . . ."

            "Oh, I'll help you," Justin offered, "It's easy. Here, I'll show you how to do it."

            The two of them went into the garage, where the TV was, to hook up the VCR. Ron went with them to watch, but I stayed inside with Hermione. No way was I getting anywhere near that thing, if I could help it. Besides, there was something else nicking at my consciousness at the moment.

            "Hermione?" I asked.

            "Yes?"

            "You don't happen to know any Elvish, do you?"

            "Very little, but yes. Why, is there something you want translated?"

            "Well. . . This will sound strange, but the Elves. . . While I was there, and sometimes later, in my visions – they kept calling me 'Eledhwen.' Do you know what that means?"

            "Hmm. . . Well, it's a name, obviously, but I'll have to look it up. I can find a dictionary at Flourish and Blotts easily. If I look hard enough I might even be able to find an old copy of the Red Book Westmarch."

            "Really?"

            "Well, of course! I know I've seen most of the histories of Middle Earth in the library at Hogwarts, but they're mostly just used for research for papers and assignments."

            "For what class?"

            "History of Magic."

            I nodded, feeling silly for not realizing that at the outset – of course the people in this world would know about Middle Earth. How could they not? It was practically part of their heritage. Just then Mrs. Weasley came in and asked us if we wanted anything to drink. We both declined, and then she went on her way again. I wondered uneasily just how close Justin and the others were in getting that VCR put together.

            "Esther!" Hermione said suddenly.

            I jumped.

            "What?"

            "I've just thought of something," she continued, her eyes widening with excitement, "Since the Nenshavites are supposed to be related to dementors, do you think they could be warded off in the same way?"

            "You mean with a Patronus charm?"

            "Yes, exactly!"

            "I have thought about that, actually. I'm not sure. The only thing I'm worried about is, what if I come face to face with her, try to summon a Patronus, and it doesn't work?"

            "It's worth a try at least. Lupin would know – he was our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher two years ago. He's the best one we've had so far."

            "You're right – I should try to find him and see what he thinks about all this. Do you have any idea how to get in touch with him?"

            Before she could answer, Mr. Weasley breezed through the room again.

            "It's all set!" he cried triumphantly as he brushed past us, into the kitchen.

            He returned brandishing the tape and beckoned for us to follow.

            "You don't have to watch it if you'd rather not, of course," he assured us as we struggled to keep up with him, "But I myself am indescribably curious about this tape. I've waited years for this moment!"

            We found the garage – a chilly, detached portion of the house filled with all sorts of mangled knick-knacks and electrical equipment – where the television and VCR were both set up in a corner. Justin was showing Ron how all the wires hooked up in the back. Ron looked up when we approached and grinned back at his father.

            "I think I'm beginning to see why you like this kind of thing so much, Dad," he said, "It's really quite fascinating."

            "Isn't it, though?" Mr. Weasley agreed wholeheartedly.

            He bent down and popped the tape into the slot. A buzz of fuzzy static filled the television screen. I hung back by the door, watching the screen nervously. My hands were starting to shake, so I grabbed the doorframe to keep anyone from noticing.

            _Don't be an idiot__, Esther, I scolded myself, __You don't have to see this. Just go back in the house._

            But I was riveted to the spot. I cleared my throat and tried to regain my bearings. Mr. Weasley was watching the fuzzy screen, his face scrunched up in confusion.

            "Oh dear," he said, with a note of disappointment, "Is there something wrong? Justin, are you sure everything is in working order here?"

            "Yeah, it's fine," said Justin, "It's supposed to start out fuzzy. Just give it another ten seconds or so."

            "Um. . . Mr. Weasley?" I asked shakily, "Are you sure you want to watch this thing? I mean, you of all people know what she could do to you if—"He He

            "Oh, not to worry!" he answered dismissively, "I'm quite prepared for the nenshavite, should she appear in the flesh. We wizards are not completely without precautions, you understand."

            I nodded, forgetting to laugh at his attempt to lighten the mood. Hermione tugged at my arm; I had completely forgotten she was standing there.

            "Esther?" she asked, her brown eyes wide with unfocused anxiety, "Do you reckon we ought to see this, really?"

            I looked back at her for a few seconds; I wanted to leave, but I knew I'd still be thinking of everything that could possibly be happening in the garage if I did. I wouldn't be able to get away from it. I looked back at the television screen. I heard Hermione call my name once more, but only distantly. My entire being was fixed on the television; I wouldn't be able to focus on anything else until it was over. But nothing happened.

            Justin knelt down in front of the screen and started fiddling with the tracking. The screen flickered hazily, as if the images were trying to pop up and failing. I blinked; it wasn't working. There was actually something wrong with the tape. I let go of the doorframe and moved closer to the set.

            "What is it?" asked Mr. Weasley.

            "I dunno," said Justin, ejecting the tape and looking at it curiously, "Are you sure this is the right one?"

            "Oh yes," he nodded, "I have no doubt of that. There are a few others besides myself who have viewed this particular copy successfully."

            "And Samara didn't come after them?"

            "Well, no. This was after the Ministry decided to give up the case, so they made copies, as they were supposed to, and passed them on."

            "Where did you get that copy?" I asked, kneeling down next to them.

            "From Rachel," he answered, "Just before we had her memory modified. She was quite reluctant to part with it, as a matter of fact. Can't imagine why she wanted to keep it, though. . ."

            I took the tape from Justin and turned it over in my hands. There was nothing spectacular about it – it was just a plain, unlabelled videotape. I had dozens of them at home. Well, at least I had before I'd seen that movie – then I'd gone through them and stuck labels on each and every one.

            "Is this the one she found at the cabin?" I asked, "The same one Katie and her friends watched together?"

            "I believe so," said Mr. Weasley, "Yes, it was one of the originals – not a copy, in other words. This one was created by Samara herself."

            I looked over at Justin.

            "What?" he asked.

            "Katie and the others lived out in Washington, didn't they?" I asked, but it wasn't really a question, "In the Northwest part of America. Right?"

            "Yeah. . ."

            Then Justin cracked a grin; he saw where I was going with this. Abruptly, he started laughing, and took the tape back from me. The others started asking questions all at once.

            "What?"

            "What's happening?"

            "Have you figured out what's wrong?"

            "What's so funny?"

            "Yeah," said Justin, "We've got it. This tape is American-made – it's formatted differently. It won't play in a British VCR."

            "Oh, for goodness sake!" said Hermione, "I might have told you that – why didn't I think of it earlier?"

            "Does that mean it won't work at all?" asked Mr. Weasley, looking heartbroken.

            "No, it's okay," said Justin, "You'll just have to take it to an electronic store and have them reformat it for you. It's a pain, but it should work after that."

            I couldn't help laughing a little myself. It was absurd, really, but only because the problem was so inane. Real life had so many silly, practical problems like that. . . Justin and I offered to take the tape to a store for Mr. Weasley the very next morning, and after taking some homemade rolls with us for supper (at Mrs. Weasley's insistence) we returned to the Leaky Cauldron for the night.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Author's Note: And I'm on a roll again!! Woot! Okay, this whole next chapter is a huge dream sequence. It's a little confusing (at least parts of it are) but I'm also introducing a new original character, whom I think you're gonna love.

One more time: Please, please, please let me know if you want email updates. They are absolutely no trouble at all. They make me happy – really. I feel useless if I don't do them. Well. . . Okay, maybe not entirely useless, but I'd sure feel better about this if I had someone to send them to. (I just sent out a mass email to everyone on my mailing list and got no replies whatsoever – I need new addresses!)

Okay, here goes:

            The first thing I saw was darkness. Perfect, black darkness – I kept blinking to make sure my eyes were open. Everything felt fuzzy; it wasn't quite real. I knew it was cold, but I couldn't really feel the cold, and I didn't know where it was coming from. I stretched my hands out beside me, and felt moisture. Again, I didn't know exactly where I was or what my surroundings were, but it was cold and wet and dark. I just knew it instinctively. Just at the edge of my consciousness were little voices, whispering from someplace far, far away, but getting closer all the time. I craned my neck upward; a sliver of something was cracking through the gloom. My eyes strained, but the harder I stared at it the harder it became to see. It was very high up – I could see that. Something frail and indistinct was glimmering at the edge of the darkness, and all the time the voices came closer. They were young voices, and as I listened I realized that there were four of them – two girls and two boys. One in particular seemed strangely familiar; even the words, although I couldn't hear them, seemed as if I had heard them somewhere before. I moved my hands along the sides of my strange little prison, and felt slime. There was something hard, and wet, and slimy surrounding me. Not touching me, but hovering very close. I ran my fingers along the grime-covered surfaces, keeping my eyes fixed on the fluctuating glimmer high above me. It was getting brighter.

            Suddenly there was another sound behind the whispers. It seemed to come from someplace even farther off than the voices themselves: a deep, heavy thumping sound like the beating of an enormous drum. The whispers grew sharper, more insistent, and I realized they were calling my name over and over: _Esther! Esther! They were shouting, but I could only just hear them, and with the shouts the thudding of the giant drum got faster and faster. The bright spot in the dark above me was beginning to take shape: a shivery white crescent appeared, expanding as it brightened. The drumming got louder, the vibrations hammering through my bones, and the voices became more and more restless. The white crescent shape widened and connected; it was no longer a crescent, but a jagged white ring. I opened my mouth to scream and felt myself fall back – but I hit the cold, curved walls of the well. The drumming was now so rapid it seemed as if the Ring above me was shaking from the vibrations. And then I realized it wasn't just one drum, but four – four drums, and four voices._

            In a flash, I saw a number in my mind's eye: 10. _It's ten o' clock, said a little voice. But not one of the four voices – this was somebody else. I realized who it was half a second too late: the thundering drums rattled like an earthquake, the four voices melded into one horrific scream, and the Ring rushed down towards me as I felt myself propelled upwards by some incredible, malicious force. I heard one voice separate itself out of the giant scream, and then Katie's terror-stricken face was right in front of me, her mouth still gaping open as the horrible sound rang out of her._

            I shot straight up, my eyes wide open. As my breathing slowly returned to normal, I realized what had just happened. I should have known right from the beginning that it was only a dream, but it had felt so real. But then I wondered if, at this point, any of the visions I kept having were really "just dreams." I knew who the voices were now: Katie and her friends, the ones who had watched the tape. And the drumming noises had been the beating of their hearts as they felt the last hour of the seventh day coming closer. The other voice, of course, was Samara's. I knew it only too well. I wondered how the others had known my name. I hadn't spoken to anyone but Becca, and even in that case I had never told her who I was. I brought a hand up to my forehead to move my hair out of my face. I took a deep, steadying breath.

            My eyes suddenly slid into sharp focus; something wasn't right here. I had had my eyes open before, but I hadn't been paying attention. I saw enough to figure out that I wasn't in the well anymore, and that had been enough. But I wasn't back in my bed yet – I was outside somewhere. The air smelled sweet and warm, and for a short, hopeful moment I thought I had returned to Middle Earth again. But no; this place was different. I was surrounded by honey-colored grass so tall I couldn't see over it. I got uneasily to my feet and found myself on a dusty dirt path. I could see the top of the wheat-grass, but it was still well over my line of vision. It was every bit as baffling as the first vision – maybe even more so, because here I didn't have that sense of lingering evil about to strike the way I always did with Samara's visions. I had absolutely no clue where I was. But, since I didn't feel any danger, I decided I might as well just follow the path and see where it led.

            I kept my eyes on the dirt road, watching my bare feet kick up bits of light brownish dust along the way. This place felt familiar somehow. I walked quickly, as if I'd done it a thousand times before, and as I kept moving I found that I knew every little curve in the road instinctively. It was a bit alarming, but exciting too, as if I'd tapped into some distant part of myself that I'd completely forgotten. Eventually I reached a small clearing, an empty space where the path widened into a little circle just large enough for a gathering. The wheat grass grew tall over it, sheltering the clearing like a natural half-dome and filtering the sunlight so that the air in front of me looked like translucent gold. And there was someone there.

            Sitting cross-legged in the middle of a clearing was a boy with honey-brown skin and dark hair that fell past his shoulders. The outlines of his body seemed to shimmer, as if he was made up of nothing but air, and his eyes glittered like black diamonds. He smiled up at me, and I realized he seemed familiar too. I smiled back.

            "I knew you'd find your way back," he said quietly.

            His voice was odd; it was darkly majestic like the distant hooting of an owl, but it also seemed very, very young. He rose to his feet.

            "Who are you?" I asked, "And where are we?"

            He laughed.

            "You don't remember me yet?" he asked, "That's okay – you will."

            I cautiously stepped inside the clearing. I still didn't understand who this boy was, but I felt compelled to trust him.

            "This is a safe place," he told me, "Nobody can touch you here."

            As I moved closer, I realized he wasn't really a boy. Not in the sense that he was really young, anyway: his shoulders and chest were lean and muscular, like those of man who had been trained in hard combat for several years at least. His features were indistinct, like the borders of his body, but every line in his face seemed permanent, as if they had been carved there since the beginning of time. Etched over his heart was a strange scar that looked as if it had been branded into his skin: it was an image of the sun.

            "I'm sorry," I said, "But I don't know you. Please, I have to be able to call you something."

            "Still stubborn," he said, shaking his head fondly, "Even after all this time. But you can call me Fire-Wing."

            "How old are you?"

            "Just as old as you."

            I glanced downward and noticed an amulet that hung from a black cord around his neck: it was a long, curved claw at least an inch thick at the base, but what sort of animal it could have come from was a mystery to me.

            "What's this?" I asked, reaching out to pick it up.

            I turned the claw over in my hand, running my fingers over the incredibly smooth material. Later I realized how rude it had been of me to just reach out and grab it like that, but he didn't he seem to mind.

            "A dragon claw," he said, "You'll remember it too, eventually.

            "Esther," he said, his tone shifting towards the serious, "I have to show you something."

            He took my hand and led me away from the clearing, back into the folds of the wheat-grass and down another dirt path. He moved so fast, but I never saw his feet touch the ground; he just flew through the grass, with me close behind him, as if both of us had suddenly grown wings at the backs of our heels. Warm wind rushed past me, whistling in my ears and combing through my hair. I wanted to laugh it was so exhilarating, but all too quickly we stopped. We were at the edge of the grass field. Fire-Wing crouched beside me, his hand on my shoulder, and pointed to a gap between the grasses. I moved closer to the space and saw that we were on the edge of a drop-off at least a thousand feet high. Deep in the darkness below us, just beyond the rocky bottom of the cliff, was a grey, empty place. My head reeled with vertigo.

            "It's all right," Fire-Wing assured me, "We're safe here. Can you see them?"

            I braced myself, and looked further. The distance between our spot and the empty place hadn't lessened, but I could see everything perfectly as if I had eyes like an eagle. And then I saw them: swirling columns of dark mist, passing each other slowly, never touching, were moving aimlessly across the grey plains. Every now and then one of the mists would stop and begin to take shape, and once I almost saw a face inside it, but then the mist swirled up and continued moving, slowly and steadily as an oncoming storm.

            "What are they?" I asked.

            "Lost souls," said Fire-Wing, "That is a dead world. This isn't what's supposed to happen."

            "You mean they're trapped there?"

            "Yes. They all died before their time, and now they've become lost."

            It was starting to dawn on me just why I was supposed to see this.

            "I have to help them, don't I?" I asked, but I already knew the answer.

            "Is it really so bad?" said Fire-Wing, his tone playfully scolding, "You've already made up your mind to help Becca. This is no different."

            I laughed shortly.

            "Yes, it is," I argued, turning away from the gap in the grass, "I've seen Becca already. I sort of know where to find her. With this, I don't even know where to start."

            He nodded, then rose from the spot. He began walking back the way we had come. I got up quickly and followed him. His outlines glimmered so much he was almost difficult to see; I didn't want to lose him.

            "Of course you don't," he said softly, "How could you? No one has ever done this before."

            "You know something about all this, don't you?" I asked, running to catch up with him, "Why don't you just tell me? What is it I'm supposed to do?"

            He stopped and turned to face me. His expression was flat – impossible to read – but something like amusement was apparent behind his eyes.

            "What is it you wish to know?" he asked simply.

            I hesitated. He wasn't coming right out and saying it of course, but I knew what he meant: whatever I was supposed to do in that dark plain, it was too complicated to just tell me all of it just like that. Also I had a feeling that I would need to figure out most of it on my own. But that just made me angry. I must have ended up in this place for a reason – he couldn't just drag me to that dark place and tell me I needed to fix it without telling me how. That wasn't fair.

            "Well, who are those people?" I demanded, "And how did they get down there? Is it everyone who ever dies before their time, or just certain ones? What's the difference?"

            He laughed.

            "I thought you were sharper than that, Little Star," he chided.

            "What?"

            "Just think. What did you see just before you found this place?"

            "I saw. . . I had a vision. I was in the well, and then I could hear Katie and the others calling out to me. I saw the Ring, and then I heard them screaming, and then I saw her face, and . . ."

            Fire-Wing smiled.

            "And then you were here," he finished for me.

            "But you knew," I said, "How did you know what I saw?"

            "I've always seen what you see," he replied matter-of-factly.

            I shook my head in amazement; it was too much for me, at least for the time being. I tried to focus on what he'd told me: the dead place was related to my vision somehow. But what did that mean? At first I just puzzled over it hopelessly, but when the answer came to me it was so obvious I was thoroughly ashamed of myself for not recognizing it sooner: the lost souls, the columns of mist drifting through the dead world, were the souls of the people Samara had killed. They were all trapped because they had died of a supernatural cause, and all before their time. I still didn't know how that was supposed to help me, but it gave me a starting point.

            I looked up at Fire-Wing, and I could see by the satisfaction in his eyes that he knew I had figured it out. I laughed sheepishly.

            "I don't know why I couldn't see it," I said apologetically.

            "It's all right," he assured me, "Time doesn't pass here. You can take as long as you need."

            I smiled.

            "Okay."

            I took a deep breath.

            "I think I know what I need to do first now. Will I be able to come back here once I leave?"

            "Now that you've found this place again, I have no doubt of it."

            "Good. Um. . . Why did you call me 'Little Star' just then?"

            "That's your name, Esther."

            I didn't know what to make of that, but I decided it wasn't important. I had an idea. And with that, I woke up.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Author's Note: And I have a new chapter! Finally!! I know, I'm so terrible updating this thing… I don't know why this one is taking so much longer than all the others. I promise you this though: I will never, never abandon this story completely. One way or another, it will get finished. This next part is very little action, but it should explain a *lot* about Esther's situation. (As in, why she's actually going through all the stuff she's going through.) I'm not explaining it fully yet, but the deal with the names gets put straight here. Oh! And I'm bringing in Lupin too. (My favorite character in the HP fandom – and I know I'm not the only one!) So, without any further ado, I give you chapter 16. Thank you so much, the brave few who are still sticking with me! Kurleyhawk: You actually reread the whole thing just to keep up? Bless your heart! I'll seriously try not to make the wait *quite* so long next time. As always, I can add you to the mailing list if you give me your email, and I will personally let you know when the next chapter is up. Reviews are always, always welcome!

            The first thing I did was wake up Justin and drag him downstairs to go over my plan of action. I ate hurriedly – probably not the best idea before the long day I had in mind – and told him what I was thinking:

            "Here's what I'm thinking," I started, "First, we just need to get that tape to some electronic store or other in London – we can pick it up later, I'm sure – and then I want to go back to the Burrow and see what else we can find out about the case. What I really want to do is find out where that asylum is so I can go there and talk to Becca."

            "Ah," said Justin knowingly, "You had another vision last night, didn't you?"

            "Well, of course – I have them every night now."

            "What do you want to ask her if and when we find her, then?"

            I paused; I hadn't thought about that. What was I going to tell her? I knew my goal was to get her out of that place, but I didn't know how.

            "Maybe I should start somewhere else," I said resignedly, "Maybe we should just find Lupin and see what he can tell us."

            "Oh, that's a good idea. He can show you how to summon a Patronus – not that that's necessarily going to work, but it's a good skill to have anyway."

            "Yeah. It was Hermione's idea, actually. I bet he could tell us what else to do to protect ourselves anyway, in case that doesn't work."

            So, that was the plan: find Lupin. We dropped off the tape quickly as soon as we finished with breakfast, and then headed back for the Burrow. This time it was me, instead of Mr. Weasley, who was busting with questions. Unfortunately, as soon as I was given the opportunity, our alternate plan went flying out of my head:

            "Are you sure there's no way for us to contact Rachel and the others?" I asked.

            "Well, you could, I suppose," he answered thoughtfully, "But she has had her memory modified – she would never remember her interview with us. She wouldn't even recognize us, for that matter."

            "Okay, but what about Becca? You didn't say anything about meeting with her."

            Mr. Weasley's cheery face went stony.

            "Yes, well," he said somberly, "If it's her you're looking to help, then there's nothing I can do for you. We spoke with her, but . . ."

            He shook his head sadly.

            "But what?" I pried.

            "Well," he said with a heavy sigh, "Hers is a difficult case. Her memory was never modified, but she would never remember us. Her mind was nearly gone when we saw her; I've no idea how far gone she would be now. But she is quite safe," he added, seeing my concern, "We put a charm on the asylum where she is being held – the nenshavite will not be able to reach her there."

            "But if I could just _talk _to her—"

            "Esther," Justin interrupted, "Why don't you tell him about Plan B?"

            I sighed; I really wanted to talk to Becca, but Lupin was the only other choice we had. I did want to meet him, but I was anxious to fulfill the promise I'd made to myself while we were still in Middle Earth.

            "Okay," I relented, "Mr. Weasley, is there any way you could put us in touch with Remus Lupin?"

            "Lupin?" he repeated, "Yes, I suppose. But what do you want with him?"

            "We wanted to see if there's anything else he can tell us about nenshavites," said Justin, "So we'll be better prepared for all this."

            "Ah! Yes, of course. Although I am not permitted to disclose his whereabouts to you – you will have to meet him somewhere else."

            "Sure, whatever works best for you."

            We then arranged for an owl to be sent to Lupin describing our situation, and set out for the streets of Muggle London to get the tape fixed. We dropped it off quickly, but Ron – who had come with us, having been bitten by the same Muggle-bug that had nabbed his father – stayed in the electronic store with Justin to poke around with all the equipment. I headed back for the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione had said she'd meet me there with more information – hopefully concerning the name that the Elves had given me. She spotted me the minute I walked in and waved me over to the little corner she'd found; it was better if we did this out of the way of the other customers, she'd said. Once again, she had a huge tome with her, this time propped open on the surface of the table.

            "Is that the Red Book of Westmarch?" I asked.

            "No," she said, "It's just an Elvish dictionary. It was 'Eledhwen,' wasn't it?"

            "Yes."

            "Thought so. It says here that Eledhwen was another name for Morwen, the daughter of Baragund and wife of Húrin. Do you know who that is?"

            "I'm not sure. . . I'm not as familiar with the older parts of the story as I ought to be."

            "He was the one who was taken prisoner by Morgoth – I think he's the first Elf that was actually tortured by him personally, but he got away. His son died though, because Morgoth put some sort of curse on him. I could look it up to make sure, if you like."

            "No, that's okay. I don't know why they would compare me with someone like that though. She was an Elf, right?"

            "Yes, but that's just the only record of an actual person with that name. The prefix, _eledh_, is actually a Sindarin form of 'elda' which means 'of the stars.'"

            "Really? That's interesting. . ."

            "Does it mean anything to you?"

            "Well, yeah. That's what 'Esther' means: 'star.'"

            I smiled. I wasn't any closer to the real problem yet, but I felt a little lighter. I could do this.

*          *          *

            We met Lupin inside a little shop in Muggle London. He was shorter than I'd imagined him, with a ratty grey-violet cloak and a good deal of grey in his hair. He had a calm, patient face, soft azure eyes, and gave me an impression of complete and total safety despite his uninspiring appearance.

            "You're Miss Golding, I presume," he said, his voice gentle, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

            "Hello," I said, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

            We shook hands, and then he led Justin and me over to a little, crowded table next to the window where he'd gathered some documents and odd gadgets – stuff I assumed would be explained later. We sat down.

            "Well, Miss Golding," said Lupin, "I'm not sure where to begin. Arthur tells me you've been tagged by a nenshavite – is that right?"

            "Yes. Her name is Samara Morgan. Have you heard of her?"

            "Only in passing. The case was hushed up pretty quickly as soon as the Ministry decided not to investigate any more."

            "So I heard. Arthur – I mean, Mr. Weasley was saying he had to bring all his documentation on it back home with him to preserve it."

            "Yes. . . It's silly, really. Nenshavites are so dangerous – it's ludicrous to let one go just because she's so much trouble."

            "What can you tell me about nenshavites then? In general, I mean?"

            "Well, first off they're fire demons. Have you done any reading on them?"

            "A little. Hermione Granger found an encyclopedia entry about them."

            "Good, good. The trick is to gather all the nenshavite's powers into one place, inside a circle of wizards. Not just any wizards, mind you – specially trained Dark Arts wizards, people that can hold their own and not run off when things start to turn ugly."

            "Like aurors, you mean?"

            "They can be, yes. There's an incantation that goes with the ritual, once the demon is drawn out. But that doesn't get rid of it – it just sends it into a different plane of existence."

            "What do you mean? You can't kill them?"

            "Well, technically they're already dead. A nenshavite, after its mortal body dies, is a restless spirit that preys on the living for nourishment. So by bringing all its talismans into one place, you force it to stop wandering. And then you can send it away, but you can't really 'kill' it."

            "That's strange. . . How do you know it won't come back?"

            "We don't. That's just the problem. It has been theorized, actually, that every nenshavite case that's been recorded is actually a reincarnation of the same spirit over and over. The fact that there are so few cases supports this – no two nenshavites have ever existed at the same time. And since we've never actually proved that they leave indefinitely after the ritual . . ."

            ". . . there's no reason to think that they couldn't come back."

            "Exactly."

            "Well, jeez. . . Mr. Weasley said that was the only way to get rid of a nenshavite. Anything we could do would just start the cycle again."

            Lupin grinned, and his soft eyes lit up for just a second.

            "Not necessarily," he said, "You see, that's just the only _proven_ way to get rid of a nenshavite. There is another way, but it's never been done before. It's more of a rumour than anything else. You see, there is another theory that every being, good and evil, has an opposite. In every dimension, every piece of time and space, there is supposedly someone who is the exact opposite of someone else. But you see, Samara – the nenshavite – is from a different dimension to this one. She's not supposed to exist here, which is why she has to resort to this demonic half-life in order to sustain herself. The rumour is that her opposite, a sort of mystical being called 'the peacemaker,' will one day appear to balance her out, and take her back to where she came from."

            Something stirred in memory, Galadriel's words from the dream I'd had in the hotel: _There are many other worlds besides this one, and some boundaries have been broken that should never have been crossed. _This must be what she had meant. I would have to start paying better attention in my visions – all this had to lead somewhere, and if I got behind I would never get to the end of it.

            "Sounds like a prophecy," said Justin.

            "Yes," Lupin nodded, "In a way. But it wasn't given in the same way – not quite as cryptic, if you know what I mean. In theory, if we can find the peacemaker, then we can make Samara go away for good."

            "Oh God," I muttered, "I think I see where this is going. . ."

            "What's that?" asked Lupin.

            "Nothing. Well. . . Have you had any luck finding this . . . 'peacemaker' so far?"

            "Little. It's just a theory – more like legend than anything else. At one point we thought that maybe it could be Rachel's son, Aiden. Of course, after the case was abandoned, we didn't have much of a chance to follow through on that idea. Personally, I don't believe it anyway. He's too young, and the rumour of the peacemaker says that he – or she – is supposed to appear the very same year of the nenshavite's mortal death."

            "What year did Samara die?"

            "Sometime in the early 1980s. The exact date isn't known, but it's either '82 or '83."

            Justin looked over at me. I didn't turn; I knew what he was thinking, and I didn't want to hear him say it. 1983 – that's the year I was born. I just stared at Lupin, trying not to believe that it was really me he could be talking about. I didn't want this. I'd known for a long time that this would happen, but I didn't know what to say. So I stayed silent, my head buzzing as I struggled to keep my mind a blank.

            "Do you have a wand, Esther?" Lupin asked.

            "Yes," I said, grateful for the distraction.

            "Mind if I have a look?"

            "Oh, sure."

            I fished the wand out of my purse and handed it across to him. His face was stony as he turned it over in his fingers. He didn't look nearly as surprised as Ollivander had when I'd bought it.

            "Dragon heartstring?" he asked.

            "Um, yes," I said.

            "Thought so."

            He handed it back to me and then got up from the table.

            "Come this way," he said.

            He led us into the back of the shop where the space was wider.

            "I just want to try something," he said, moving some stray chairs out of the way, "Do you know the incantation to produce a Patronus?"

            "_Expecto__ Patronum_," I said, "But I've tried it once – I don't think I've had enough training to do it right."

            "That's all right," he said, "That's what I'm here for. Now come here, into the middle of this room – you may want to leave your purse in the corner there, it'll get in your way."

            I put the purse down and went to the center of the room, taking my wand with me. Justin sat down next to the wall to watch. I felt the wand getting slippery with sweat from my hand; I knew what would probably come next, and I was a little nervous. I hoped he didn't have a boggart for me to deal with, because I knew exactly what it would turn into once I looked at it. I didn't feel up to the challenge yet.

            "Don't worry," said Lupin, reading my mind, "I'm not going to do anything drastic today. I just want you to practice the incantation. Hold your wand arm out. That's right, and try not to shake so much. I know it's difficult, but be steady. Focus on a happy memory. It can be anything, something from your past that made you feel good. Just focus on that."

            I closed my eyes, thinking that that would get me to focus better. But as soon as I shut my vision to darkness, all I saw was Samara and her veil of black hair; I heard the screams and pleas of the children I'd heard inside the well in my last vision, and the ghostly faces in the gray world I'd found afterwards. This wasn't working – my arm was now shaking even more than before.

            "Open your eyes," said Lupin, "Try to get the memory in your head first, and then shut them. You're letting your imagination take hold of you too much – you need to concentrate. Go on now, you have plenty of time."

            Embarrassed, but determined, I gritted my teeth and stared down the length of the wand, trying to force all the bad thoughts out of my head. The deep red wood just reminded me of blood, and charred wood, like the dark etchings that Rachel and Noah had found carved all over Samara's loft in the barn.

            _Stop it! Stop it!_ I scolded myself, _Just__ think of something happy. It shouldn't be too hard – when's the last time you were happy? Think about it!_

            The last time I'd been happy . . . was when I was in Middle Earth. With Legolas. I tried to focus on his face, his soft features and the sweet, almost fearful way he looked at me, but all I could feel was bitterness. I lowered my arm in defeat; this wasn't helping. All I could think about was how much I missed him; conjuring up that memory was just too painful.

            "I can't do it," I said, "I'm sorry."

            "Oh, _come on_ Esther!" Justin scolded, "You always give up too easily – you haven't been standing there five minutes. Stop being such a drama queen."

            I whirled around to glare at him, but I also saw Lupin apparently biting back an amused grin.

            "He's right," said Lupin, "It just takes time, that's all. We're not in any rush, you know. You shouldn't have to force this – just do what you can with it, and we'll work with that. Now, when you get your memory – and you will get it, it just might take a few minutes – go ahead and try the incantation. It should be easier without a Dementor to pull the bad feelings out of you."

            I sighed, then lifted my wand again. This time I determined not to think of Legolas. I tried to picture something more simple, like a memory from my childhood – little pleasures, like smelling the grass or walking through the sand at the beach. The problem with that was I couldn't seem to find a specific memory with any of those things in it. The last time I remembered feeling that way was . . . That was it! My vision, the second part of it. I had been running through the golden wheat field with Fire Wing, and we'd been running so fast my feet barely even touched the ground. I'd almost laughed aloud—

            "_Expecto__ Patronum_!"

            A beam of white poured out of the end of my wand, and at the same time I felt a strange pull at the center of my chest. It was as if some part of myself, a part I'd forgotten entirely, was running down my arm and through the wand, rushing outside of it to take shape. The white mist billowed out and expanded, towering over everything in the room. I saw giant wings stretching, and the thing turned, lowering its massive head towards me. I almost thought it could be _bowing_, but the idea was absurd – why should this huge, powerful creature bow to me? Pearl-like scales glistened down its serpentine neck and all along its enormous haunches. Silvery wings folded along its back in submission, and its great eyes, like pools of moonlight, gazed expectantly down at me. In the back of my mind I heard Justin whisper, "Wow," and say something to Lupin. I just stared up at it, not quite believing that the giant, white dragon was mine. Suddenly it lifted up on its translucent forelegs and spread its wings high. It gave one gale-like flap, and then the mist dispersed itself again. It was gone. I turned back to Lupin, speechless. He smiled, then came towards me and looked down at the wand again.

            "Dragon heart-string," he said, "Let's see if we can't find out exactly where that wand of yours came from, eh?"

**All the name stuff about "eledhwen" is taken from the glossary of _The Silmarillion_, as is all that stuff about the life of the Elf of that name, should anyone feel compelled to double-check it.


End file.
